Lord Bachian’s cough was getting worse. He could not help but notice the ever-increasing number of flecks of blood and he knew that his time was growing short. He stood by the fire trying to keep his bones warm. All his years of wielding his sword and shield, fighting for his king and homeland, and it had come to this — tired and old and waiting for Death’s Angel to take him to whatever lay beyond. He worried for his small village in the Cincian Woods. The elder Magistrate had done his best to govern justly in the name of his king, but he could not account for what his sons might do.

The twins Golthir and Bolthir, were irresponsible and spoiled. They had been at each other’s throats since the womb and he doubted that their rivalry would end when he passed. He knew they would squander all he had fought to build. Galnin, the youngest, was strong, cunning and fair — a worthy heir, and he would surely inherit Bachian’s lands, were he not the youngest.

Perhaps, some sort of contest should decide. His birthday gala was within the week and it would provide the perfect opportunity. Galnin was quick with both his mind and sword and would surely win. Should he be victorious in a lawful game, then the brothers would have no choice but to accept Galnin as the new Lord of Bachian House.

Assuming, of course that the others play a fair game.

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