Blood of Quartz

Chapter 20

"Dueling?"

"With swords," came the gruff reply of Rex, who puffed around the corner right after Niall.

"They're in the main hall," Rex puffed and waved them on, stopping and bracing on his knees. "Please for the love of the Gods, make the earl stop. He'll get himself hung if he so much as draws blood on the Duke."

Erik grabbed Abigail's hand, towing her along as they ran for the main Keep, and they stopped just as they entered the main hall, the clang of swords and shouts echoing off the walls. He looked at her, her breath short, likely not used to running so quickly.

"He was upset earlier about your situation. I suppose I should have said something to someone," she gasped out, a hand on her chest.

"No matter. Stay put, or perhaps you should inform the Dowager Countess, and find his chamber man if he isn't already in the hall," Erik stated, and let go of her hand. He flexed his, feeling the absence of her immediately.

White-faced and worried, Abigail nodded and scurried off in the other direction, her skirts floating out around her like the flags had snapped in the breeze earlier that day. He watched her for a moment, then realized he was staring, and shook his head hard. His father and Niall had already strode into the room. Erik followed, his hand automatically floating to the pommel of his sword, and the hum cleared his head instantly. He breathed out a sigh of relief, because moments before, he had not been in control at all.

What had possessed him to kiss her? His cousin, a blood relative. Well, half-blood, but they shared a half-blood tie through the earl. There was no excuse for it, other than he was drawn to her in some strange way. Her presence muddied his mind, and he fought the urge to touch her almost as much as he did with his sword. It made no sense.

He entered the hall, his mind again on Abigail, and as he reached Niall, he realized he had taken his hand off his sword, and palmed the pommel once more, turning his attention to the scene unfolding in front of him. The Duke was on his backside, sitting on his own weapon, squawking in protest as the Earl stood above, waving his sword. Several people were standing back, unsure of what to do.

Erik wondered how the fight was not already over, with the Duke on the end of the Earl's sword, but then took in his uncle.

The man was stupefyingly drunk. He was staggering, waving his sword about erratically, slurring insults, banging off of furniture, his shirt half untucked and the laces undone.

Erik shared a look with his father, and his father strode towards the Duke, Erik stepping over towards his uncle. Niall stood between the Duke and the Earl, arms at the ready to jump into the fray.

"My Lord," Erik said, clearing his throat. "Give me the sword."

The Earl looked at him blankly, laughed and stumbled forward, turning and waving the weapon at him. "You give me yours," he mumbled, and swiped at Erik, who quickly stepped back, avoiding the tip of the sword as it clumsily brushed past him.

"My Lor—" Erik clipped again, then stopped. This would do no good. Talking to him would be like attempting to stop a charging bull with a spider web. He stepped forward and hauled his uncle towards him, twisting his sword hand, bringing the man to his chest. The blade dropped to the ground with a piercing clatter, and Erik heard the sighs of relief behind him as he spun Samual away from the crowd, so that they could not see the man's face. He nodded once to Niall, who scooped the sword up quickly. No need to keep that in play.

The Duke, still flat on his generous backside on the floor, was being helped up by several people, joined by an out of breath Commander Harrt, who was hastily stuffing himself into clothing. TheDuke was bellowing incoherently about executions and punishment. Erik paid him no mind, and kept his eyes on his uncle.

"Uncle. Samual. Stop. Think of your daughter. Think of your household," he hissed into his ear, and shook his uncle a bit to get him to focus on him, rather than everywhere else.

The pain radiating out of his uncle's eyes almost made him drop the man's arm. It was clear this was more than a simple argument. It was grief, and so much more. He had seen that look in Niall's eyes when they had laid his father to rest.

"That excuse for a man over there thinks he can play with everyone's lives like a God. No," he slurred, and closed his eyes.

"He is not a God, just a Duke, and he has not done anything that can't be weathered. Don't be what you accuse him of and take his life for slights that are not worthy the punishment," Erik whispered.

Commander Harrt joined them, looking into the earl's eyes. "Get some control Samual," he muttered. "What has gotten into you?"

"He's taken everything," Samual slurred again, and then mumbled "He's taken Harriet."

"Killing him will not bring your wife back," Erik added for good measure, and he met Commander Harrt's eyes, who nodded curtly.

His uncle sagged at that statement, and Erik shouldered him quickly so he wouldn't crumple to the floor. He had already embarrassed himself enough for one evening. No need for everyone to see the downfall.

"Stay and see if you can't smooth things over. I'll get him out of here," Erik said through his teeth at the commander, who assessed the earl, nodded curtly again, and spun to join Erik's father and various others trying to placate the Duke.

"I will take him to his quarters. I need to be shown the way," Erik announced loudly, turning again with the earl hanging off his arm. "He is gone in drink. There is nothing more that can be accomplished tonight."

The hall went still, and even his father looked curiously at him. Niall raised his eyebrows. Erik normally did not take charge the way he was currently, and it felt strange, yet here he was. There were more senior men who should be barking orders, but something inside him had insisted he do so. Perhaps the past few days of being forced to make decisions and live a very different life was altering his perception of what he could be capable of.

A servant stepped forward and nodded, gesturing towards a doorway on the far side of the room. "This way, My Lord."

"That man has to account for attacking me the way he did," The Duke bellowed, and fought off the two servants holding him up before Erik could turn and help Samual away. He stumbled towards them, his finger pointing and shaking. "He came at me with a sword! He meant to kill me! I want him hung at once!"

"Your Grace, with respect," Erik said, meeting the man in the eye, making the Duke stop short and blink. He likely was not used to being addressed so boldly and Erik quaked at the directness even as he held his ground. He couldn't back down now, the consequence was already in play.

"He is very drunk, and wouldn't have been able to run anyone through, even as grand a target as you, also armed as you were. I fear you are quite safe from harm."

The Duke's mouth opened and closed a few times, the insult veiled as thinly as Erik could make it. He hated politics and verbal sparring. It required a lot of effort to stay one step in front of your opponent. But he was ready to take aim if it meant he could take his uncle, who was increasingly heavy, away from the scene and let him fall apart in private.

"Niall. I have need of you," he barked before the Duke could reply, and Niall joined him, taking the Earl's other arm over his shoulder.

They exited the hall, listening to the less-loud protests of the Duke and several people trying to placate him. Half-dragging him along the floors, his boots scraping, Erik wondered at the amount of grief required in a man to lash out and irreparably damage their own life. What had possessed him to lash out so violently towards the one man he shouldn't?

"What made you think you could duel with the Duke?" he asked as his uncle righted himself slightly, stumbling over a raised floor slate.

"I could not let him get away with using my family as pawns. He did so once, he's done it again, and now—"

"Now?" Niall asked. They made it up the stairs and around the corner, following the servant, and large, burnished oak double doors appeared, the Earl's crest in brilliant blue and yellow adorned at the top. The servant swung them both open and they pushed through. Relief flooded Erik as the doors thunked closed behind them. They'd gotten away from the mess downstairs.

Now. Erik wondered at what the Duke had edicted above their own predicament, and dread stole through his chest.

It could not be good.