His face contorted in fury. Nose to nose they glared.
‘How dare you question my authority.’ he roared.
No one spoke
‘Your place is here beside your father.’
‘Never,’ the son declared. ‘I will not be a party to your cruel tyrannical ways Father.’
‘You call me a tyrant?’ The father raged.
Defiantly the son turned. Behind him came the scrape of a sword leaving its scabbard.
In one fluid movement the son pirouetted. His own sword lightning fast as it slashed. A moments regret washed over him as he watched his father’s lifeblood seep upon the floor.