Reluctantly, Lottres raised his own weapon in response. From the moment they left their prison cells, this fight had been inevitable. Still, he wished it didn't have to happen. “I don't want to fight you,” Lottres said. He eased back, eyeing the archers on one side and Dietrick on the other. Ymell and Shaelen were striding across the courtyard, but they were probably too far off to help. “I see you have discovered the rats in our cellar,” Dietrick answered. “These vermin have infested Carthell for too long. I'm in your debt for destroying them.” Dietrick spoke almost cheerfully, and he wasn't even looking at Lottres. His gaze was fixed on the fallen Silletsian. The eppagadrocca stopped struggling as Dietrick approached. Lottres could see no sign of Shaelen's energy arrow, save for a small hole in his tunic and a dark blot soaking through the fabric. “Get away from me,” the eppagadrocca panted with shrill panic. “I have the Duke's favor! If you touch me, your father will...”
