Chapter 1

Ambrosius was there when the sword went off. The deadly blast caught everyone by surprise - Ambrosius barely had a moment to think before grabbing his sword. It was a moment though, just long enough for him to gather his wits and knock the sword from Ballister’s hand before anyone else got hurt, Ballister included. The sword fell to the ground, sparking as it disintegrated into pieces. Ambrosius and Ballister stared at it, then at each other in shock. Then the guards leapt into action. Ballister was so stunned he didn’t fight back when they pinned his arms behind his back and forced him to his knees.

“I didn’t do it.” his voice was barely audible over the noise of the stadium. Then the guards started dragging him away, past the stunned cadets, back into the tunnels below the Glorodome. “I DIDN’T DO IT!” he shouted, finding his voice. “SOMEONE SWITCHED MY SWORD!”

Ambrosius had watched in shocked silence. There was nothing else he could do.

~ ~ ~

The queen was dead. It was all over the news. Killed by the commoner knight himself. What remained of the blaster-equipped sword was locked away as evidence while The Institute investigated the event. Everyone was saying it was an open-and-shut case - replicas of famous swords were easy to get, and Ballister could have easily gotten one and hidden an energy weapon in it. Why was the question that was bothering Ambrosius.

He’d read the write-ups explaining the psyche of the ‘deranged, previous street urchin who’d snapped under stress’, but he’d known the man for over a decade - the profile didn’t fit. Ballister wasn’t a murderer… unless the last ten years had all been an act. Had their friendship been a facade? Had Ballister been planning this for years? Was this his revenge on a system he felt had mistreated him for so long? Or had he been telling the truth on the night of the murder - that someone had switched his sword out, that he’d been set up? But then who had done it? Some terrorist faction that was just now showing itself? The kingdom had been peaceful for decades, why would something surface now?

Ambrosius needed to make sense of this. He trusted The Institute to take care of it, but impatience was getting the better of him. He’d asked for visitation rights several times in the days since the Queen’s murder, but each time he’d been denied. That man was a raving lunatic, they’d told him, and he needed to be kept calm and isolated.

That wasn’t what the dungeon’s camera feed was showing. Ambrosius sat back in his chair in The Institute’s security room, perplexed. The feed showed Ballister looking dejected, sitting in a cell, sometimes pacing, but mostly just… sitting there, not saying a word. No mad ravings like the guards had described. Ambrosius fast-forwarded the feed. Hours of footage, all showing the same thing; nothing. The guards were lying. Why? Why was nothing adding up?

Ambrosius turned away from the computer, rubbing his head. Staring at big screens always made his eyes hurt. Smaller screens, not so much. He flicked his phone open. A news article flashed on the screen; ‘Breaking News: Ballister’s Written Confession Revealed’. Ambrosius blinked. When had that happened? He’d already skimmed through the bulk of the security camera footage from the last few days, and he hadn’t seen anyone go to interview him.

He tapped the article. Sure enough, there it was. A confession of murder, along with enough broken grammar to convince anyone that the author had lost it. Ambrosius stared at the screen until his eyes hurt again. Why would Bal implicate himself if he'd said he was innocent? Now with a confession made clear, all that was left was the sentencing, and there was only one punishment for murder in the kingdom; death.

Years of feelings began to surface - the times they’d stayed out late getting nachos, the times Bal had comforted him when his parents had died - so many experiences built on love and trust. Ambrosius didn’t want to believe Ballister was a murderer. He didn’t want to lose him. He couldn’t lose him.

Ambrosius got up. The article had mentioned the sentencing would be that evening. There was something he could do - he’d heard of an old custom that someone of noble blood or of high status could call for mercy on a convict - not a full pardon, but a punishment could be lightened. As Gloreth’s direct descendant, Ambrosius could get a judge to give a lifetime of house arrest over hanging… if it was still valid.

Ambrosius headed to the court building. They would know if he could declare mercy and how. If he hurried, maybe he could save Bal’s life.

The receptionist knew about the custom, but didn’t know if it was still legal or who would handle it. It hadn’t been done in decades. She made some calls to different departments to see. Ambrosius dug his nails into his palm every time a call turned out fruitless. Time was ticking away. Time he didn’t have.

Finally, they found the answer; the custom was still legal. Better yet, they found out who would handle the proceeding - someone in the judicial building across the campus. There would be paperwork involved. Ambrosius hated paperwork.

Ambrosius didn’t say who he was pardoning, but he could see the confusion on the clerk’s face when he handed him the sheaf of necessary papers. There was only one person in line for sentencing, and who would pardon an obvious murderer?

Ambrosius sat in the lobby and pored over the forms. He needed proof of his lineage. He needed the exact charges against Ballister. He needed the name of the judge. So many fields. So many signatures. He didn’t have time for this! Maybe he could get the first page done, declare mercy, say he’d missed a page, and then finish the rest afterward. Anything to stall the proceedings long enough to get it all filled out.

The records building was his first stop. It wasn’t far, just a few minutes walk. Ambrosius jogged across the campus green. How much time did he have left? He glanced at a nearby clock tower. Then he froze.

In the distance, there was a black flag flying above the judgment tower. The papers in Ambrosius’s hands crinkled as he tightened his grip. A black flag meant an execution was in progress. He’d missed the sentencing.

Ambrosius broke into a run. Forget the paperwork. He’d declare mercy on the spot and worry about that later. But he needed to get there. He needed to get there NOW!

People hurried out of his way as he tore through side streets and courtyards. He ran, his pulse pounding in his ears. The flag was still at full mast. He could see the front doors to the tower in the distance, two guards out front.

The guards stepped in front of the doors as he approached.

“Closed event. Nobody else allowed in.”

Ambrosius didn’t stop. “Let me in! I need to mercy—”

“No one. Else. Allowed.” The guard stated again.

Ambrosius rushed them. It almost worked - they hadn’t expected that from Gloreth’s descendant. He’d nearly gotten his hand on the door handle when they grabbed him and shoved him backwards. Ambrosius didn’t relent. He pushed back, digging in his heels, reaching past them for the handle.

“Let me in!”

His fingers touched the handle briefly. Then he found himself thrown onto the ground, paperwork falling from his hand.

“Don’t make this difficult.” a guard growled.

Ambrosius was back on his feet in an instant, frantic.

“Or what?! I am a knight! Descendant of Gloreth!” He charged again, this time trying to grapple a guard.

“That doesn’t matter.” The other guard grabbed Ambrosius from behind. “Closed event. Direct orders.”

Ambrosius landed on his back again, his head hitting the pavement. He looked up at the sky for a moment, dazed. The black flag. It was being lowered.

“NO!”

The tower door opened and a reporter stepped out, absently scrolling through a notepad. The guards moved to let her pass. Ambrosius seized his chance and barrelled through the opening, past the guards, into the courtyard.

“STOP! I DECLARE MERCY!”

His voice echoed off the walls, startling the audience in front of the gallows. Everyone turned to look at him. Ambrosius charged through the crowd, ignoring them. The gallows looked empty. Where was the convicted?

“I declare mercy!” He shouted again, pushing his way to the front. Then he froze. He could see the base of the gallows now. A tower worker was working the noose off an all-too-familiar figure laying in a crumpled heap on the ground.

Ballister Boldheart was dead.