Prince of Dragons

Chapter 4 - The Servants of Darfith

The alley the cloaked stranger had led them to, was deserted, dark and dirty. 

The primitive road was covered in mud and a wide array of bodily products left by humans and animals alike. Enorwin's face was contorted into an ugly grimace and Arwund couldn't help but smile inwardly at the prince's disgust. Apparently, he really wasn't used to the reality of the towns and cities of Garowain. 

The stranger stopped in front of a brick wall which blocked their passage. He turned around to face the two others and their horses. 

"These houses have been abandoned," he said, nodding towards both of the wooden houses to their sides. "We can safely speak here. What is it you want to know?" 

"There are certain rumours," Enorwin said, "about a draconic threat of sorts. Do you possess any knowledge about this apparent threat?" 

The stranger nodded. "I, too, have heard these rumours. I am a wanderer, you see. I travel from place to place without a home. I once slept in a tavern not very far from here, in a village called Chesterham. Do you know where that is?" 

"I do," Enorwin said. "My father used to take me hunting there. In the forest, that is." 

"Yes, not in the village, I hope," the stranger said. "Anyway, while I was sitting in at a table in the evening, I saw a group of three: two men and a woman. I asked if I could join them for dinner and they said they didn't mind. We talked a bit and once they had made sure I really wasn't planning to betray them to the sheriff, they decided to let me in on a secret." 

"They were draconic humans, I presume?" Enorwin said. 

"Yup. That's the same guy who thought I was bold," Arwund mumbled to himself. 

The stranger smiled. "I get a feeling you two aren't the best of friends, so to say," he commented. "But that is none of my business. Yes, they were draconic humans. They told me they were part of some group, the Servants of Darfith they called themselves. They told me I shouldn't be afraid: only the knights ought to be afraid, because Darfith would soon be returning." 

"Darfith?" Enorwin asked, eyes wide in shock. "Did you say Darfith?" 

Arwund looked at him. "Darfith's dead," he said. He also knew the name: the dragon Darfith had been the last of the Dragon Kings. According to myth, his scales had been pitch black. 

"Unlike his predecessors, he has not been slain by a knight, however," Enorwin reminded him. "He may still live." 

"And he hasn't been seen in more than three centuries," Arwund said. "Those breathers were probably just being metaphorical." 

"Breathers?" Enorwin repeated. 

"Draconic humans," Arwund clarified. "You know, 'breathers' as in fire-breathing. It's a slang word." 

Enorwin nodded, but judging from his blank look, he probably didn't really get it. 

"I don't know whether they meant it literally," the stranger said. "All I know is that that's what they told me." 

"Is there a chance they were just drunk?" Enorwin asked. 

The stranger shook his head. "They had drunk some ale, but not enough to get drunk." 

"The Servants of Darfith," Arwund murmured. He tried to remember if he'd ever heard that name before, but nothing came to mind. He'd known plenty of draconic humans throughout his life, but he'd never heard anything about this mysterious group. 

"Why are you telling us all this, by the way?" he asked the stranger. 

The man smiled almost enigmatically. "There's a prophecy, you know."