Prince of Dragons

Chapter 8 - Betrayal

Joandrey shot down the cloaked wanderer with a third poisoned dart. He hit the floor with a thump and Joandrey looked over at Bedreigh. "You kill the knight and the wanderer. I'll bring the rogue back to Carlard. Is that clear?" 

Bedreigh swallowed. "Kill them?" 

"Yes," Joandrey said, "kill them." 

"But..." 

"You should have thought about those things before you became a Servant, Bedreigh," Joandrey said, sounding annoyed. 

Bedreigh said nothing. 

Joandrey smiled. "You're a quick learner, 'Reigh." She got up, not awaiting an answer. She walked towards the limp body of the red-haired man and lifted him up, laying the body over her shoulder as if he was as light as a feather. It still amazed Bedreigh how strong she was. 

She looked back at him. "Don't take too long," she said. "You don't want to make Carlard mad." 

Bedreigh nodded, feeling a bit sick all of a sudden. "I... I won't," he stammered. 

"Very wise," Joandrey said, walking away. 

Bedreigh waited until he could no longer see her. Then, he got up from his uncomfortable position behind a stack of wooden crates and walked towards the two unconscious men. His hand shaking, he produced the dagger in his belt and knelt down beside the prince. 

The prince's age surprised him. He was probably even younger than himself. There was a tense look on his face, as if he'd been extremely focused right before he'd been shot. He'd probably trained for years to fight in battle. He'd trained to fight, to protect people, as he probably believed. 

And now he would never get that chance. 

All those years. All the years he had left to live. And Bedreigh was about to take those away from him. 

And then he whispered, "I can't do it."

-------------------------------------------------------

Arwund slowly opened his eyes, only to find himself yet again sitting at a table, opposite someone else. This time however, he had been tied to the chair and the other person definitely wasn't a knight. 

"Where am I?" he asked. 

"Keep your mouth shut unless he tells you to say something!" a woman's voice said behind him. 

Arwund threw a look over his shoulder and recognised the blonde woman from the tavern. Then he looked back at the man sitting across the table. He appeared to be in his thirties. His short, messy hair was pitch black, but his skin was as pale as the snow in the mountains up north. His eyes were just as dark as his hair. 

The man raised a hand. "Leave him be, Joandrey." 

Joandrey made a sound as though she wanted to protest, but she thought the better of it and remained silent. 

"Who are you?" Arwund asked the man. 

"My name is Carlard," the man said. "And you are Arwund Marholdson." 

"I am surprised you know my name," Arwund said. 

"Are you?" Carlard asked. "I have heard many things about you, Arwund. I knew who you were as soon as Joandrey here described you to me." 

Arwund raised his eyebrows. "What have you heard, then?" 

Now Carlard looked taken aback. "You don't know?" 

"I don't know what?" Arwund asked. 

"Never mind," Carlard said. "What matters is that you have something that belongs to me." He got up and extended his arm, grabbing the dragon pendant of Arwund's necklace.