Prince of Dragons

Chapter 23 - A duke's crime

Enorwin spent the rest of the morning in his room, extremely worried. When would there be news? Would the duke live? He could not die: that would be a disaster. Dracherwold was the only thing lying between Darfith and the rest of Garowain. The duke was unmarried and had no children, so someone else would have to be appointed to succeed to the throne if he were to die. It would take a while to find the right person, and in the meantime, Darfith and his troops could take advantage of the chaos by first conquering the then weakened Dracherwold and then marching straight into the significantly less well-defended Flaming Lands.

Enorwin swallowed. He just hoped Bedreigh would reach his father quick enough.

The time went by as fast as a snail and at some point, the prince decided he simply could not wait any longer. He stood up and left his room, hurriedly striding through the corridors towards the duke's bedroom. In front of the door there were three other men who were waiting anxiously, and as Enorwin approached, he recognised them as some of duke Hadufried's knights: all three of them had been present at the meeting earlier that morning when the assault on the duke had taken place.

"My lord," they said in unison as Enorwin approached, all speaking the Middle language with a thick Northern accent.

Enorwin nodded in acknowledgement. "Is there any news about His Grace?" he asked.

"The doctor came out of the room just recently," one of the knights said. It was the middle-aged one who had been the first of the knights to arrive at the meeting. "He said that His Grace will survive, but he was unsure whether any permanent injuries would remain."

Enorwin nodded. At least the duke would live; that was infinitely better than if he would not. But what about those injuries? What about those injuries?

Under his breath, he uttered a quick prayer to the gods, wishing for duke Hadufried's well-being.

Suddenly, the wooden door to the duke's room was opened from the inside. The doctor looked around the corner and said something in Northern. One of the knights nodded and immediately hurried away. Then, the doctor's gaze fell on Enorwin. He immediately bowed and said in the Middle language, "My lord."

Enorwin nodded in acknowledgement. Then, the doctor went back inside, closing the door behind him. The prince smiled. It really did feel good that people finally paid him the respect he deserved again.

He looked at the knight with the reddish-brown hair, who had stayed by the door as one of the other knights had left. "What did the doctor say?" Enorwin asked.

"His Grace requested a..." The knight paused in mid-sentence, hunting for the correct Middle word. "He requested a scribe," he finally said.

"What for?" Enorwin asked.

The knight shrugged. "The doctor did not specify, my lord."

Eventually, the knight who had been sent away returned, accompanied by an old man dressed in a yellow and green robe. His white hair fell on his shoulders and his slightly darker beard reached his chest. He wore a pair of spectacles, which was pinched to the bridge of his nose, and under his left arm, he was carrying a pile of paper. There was a somewhat bewildered look in his eyes, as if he had just recently been completely focused on something, but had been brutally pulled out of his trance by the knight.

The scribe pulled the door open with his right hand and entered the room. Enorwin only just had the time to see him bow down to the duke; then someone else, probably the doctor, closed the door, leaving the knight who had brought the scribe here outside the room.

For a few minutes, nothing happened, and Enorwin considered going back to his quarters. Then, however, the doctor opened the door and – once again bowing to the prince – said in the Middle language, "His Grace requests the presence of Sir Enorwin of the Flaming Lands."