Morgan Rice: A Fate of Dragons

All the men in the room froze, stopping their chanting, growing quiet, starting to realize that someone special was among them. The bartender, though, suddenly came rushing forward, a glass bottle held high over his head, aiming right for Erec.

Erec saw it coming and already had his hand on his sword – but before Erec could draw it, his friend Brandt stepped forward, beside him, drew a dagger from his belt, and held the tip of it out at the bartender’s throat.

The bartender ran right into it and stopped cold, the blade just about to puncture his skin. He stood there, eyes wide open in fear, sweating, frozen in mid-air with the bottle. The room grew so silent at the standoff one could hear a pin drop.

“Drop it,” Brandt ordered.

The bartender did so, and the bottle smashed on the floor.

Erec drew his sword with a resounding ring of metal and walked over to the innkeeper, who lay moaning on the floor, and pointed it at his throat.

“I will only say this once,” Erec announced. “Clear this room of all this riffraff. Now. I demand an audience with the lady. Alone.”

“The Duke!” someone yelled.

The whole room turned and finally recognized the Duke standing there, by the entrance, flanked by his men. All of them rushed to take off their caps and bow their heads.

“If the room is not clear by the time I finish speaking,” the Duke announced, “each one of you here will be imprisoned at once.”

The room broke into a frenzy as all the men inside scurried to vacate, rushing past the Duke and out the front door, leaving their unfinished bottles of ale where they were.

“And out with you, too,” Brandt said to the bartender, lowering his dagger, grabbing him by his hair and shoving him out the door.

The room, which had been so rowdy moments before, now sat empty, silent, save for Erec, Brandt, the Duke, and a dozen of his closest men. They shut the door behind them with a resounding slam.

Erec turned to the innkeeper, sitting on the floor, still dazed, wiping blood from his nose. Erec grabbed him by the shirt, hoisted him up with both hands, and sat him down on one of the empty benches.

“You’ve ruined my business for the night,” the innkeeper whined. “You will pay for this.”

The Duke stepped forward and backhanded him.

“I can have you killed for attempting to lay a hand on this man,” the Duke scolded. “Do you not know who this is? This is Erec, the king’s best knight, the champion of The Silver. If he chooses to, he can kill you himself, right now.”

The innkeeper looked up at Erec, and for the first time, real fear crossed his face. He nearly trembled in his seat.

“I had no idea. You did not announce yourself.”

“Where is she?” Erec demanded, impatient.

“She’s in the back, scrubbing the kitchen. What is it that you want with her? Did she steal something of yours? She is just another indentured servant girl.”

Erec drew his dagger and held it to the man’s throat.

“Call her a ‘servant’ again,” Erec warned, “and you can be sure I will cut your throat. Do you understand?” he asked firmly as he held the blade against the man’s skin.

The man’s eyes flooded with tears, as slowly he nodded.

“Bring her here, and hurry about it,” Erec ordered, and yanked him to his feet and gave him a shove, sending him flying across the room, and toward the back door.

As the innkeeper left, there came a clanging of pots from behind the door, muted yelling, and then, moments later, the door opened, and out came several women, dressed in rags, smocks and bonnets, covered in kitchen grease. There were three older women, in their sixties, and Erec wondered for a moment if the innkeeper knew who he was speaking of.

And then, she came out – and Erec’s heart stopped in his chest.

He could hardly breathe. It was her.

She wore an apron, covered in grease stains, and kept her head down low, ashamed to look up. Her hair was tied, covered in a cloth, her cheeks were caked with dirt – and yet still, Erec was smitten by her. Her skin was so young, so perfect. She had high, chiseled cheeks and jawbones, a small nose covered in freckles, and full lips. She had a broad, regal forehead, and her beautiful blonde hair spilled out from beneath the bonnet.

She glanced up at him, just for a moment, and her large, wonderful almond-green eyes, which shifted in the light, changing to crystal blue then back again, held him rooted in place. He was surprised to realize that he was even more mesmerized by her now than he had been when he’d first met her.

Behind her, out came the innkeeper, scowling, still wiping blood from his nose. The girl walked forward tentatively, surrounded by these older women, towards Erec, and curtsied as she got close. Erec rose, standing before her, as did several of the Duke’s entourage.

“My lord,” she said, her voice soft, sweet, filling Erec’s heart. “Please tell me what I’ve done to offend you. I don’t know what it is, but I’m sorry for whatever it is I have done to warrant the presence of the Duke’s court.”

Erec smiled. Her words, her language, the sound of her voice – it all made him feel restored. He never wanted her to stop speaking.

Erec reached up and touched her chin with his hand, lifting it until her gentle eyes met his. His heart raced as he looked into her eyes. It was like getting lost in a sea of blue.

“My lady, you have done nothing to offend. I do not think you shall ever be able to offend. I come here not out of anger – but out of love. Since I saw you, I have been able to think of nothing else.”

The girl looked flustered, and immediately dropped her eyes to the ground, blinking several times. She twisted her hands, looking nervous, overwhelmed. She was clearly unused to this.

“Please my lady, tell me. What is your name?”

“Alistair,” she answered, humbly.

“Alistair,” Erec repeated, overwhelmed. It was the most beautiful name he had ever heard.

“But I do not know why it should serve you to know it,” she added, softly, still looking at the floor. “You are a Lord. And I am but a servant.”

“She is my servant, to be exact,” the innkeeper said, stepping forward, nasty. “She is indentured to me. She signed a contract, years ago. Seven years is what she promised. In return, I give her food and board. She is three years in. So you see, this is all a waste of time. She is mine. I own her. You are not taking this one away. She is mine. Do you understand?”

Erec felt a hatred for the innkeeper beyond what he had ever felt for a man. He was partly of a mind to draw his sword and stab him in the heart and be done with him. But however much the man may have deserved it, Erec did not want to break the King’s law. After all, his actions reflected on the king.

“The King’s law is the King’s law,” Erec said to the man, firmly. “I don’t intend on breaking it. That said, tomorrow begin the tournaments. And I am entitled, as any man, to choose my bride. And let it be known here and now that I choose Alistair.”

A gasp spread the room, as everyone turned to each other, shocked.

“That is,” Erec added, “if she consents.”

Erec looked at Alistair, his heart pounding, as she kept her face lowered to the floor. He could see that she was blushing.

“Do you consent, my lady?” he asked.

The room fell silent.

“My Lord,” she said softly, “you know nothing of who I am, of where I am from, of why I am here. And I am afraid these are things I cannot tell you.”

Erec stared back, puzzled.

“Why can you not tell me?”

“I have never told anyone since my arrival. I have made a vow.”

“But why?” he pressed, so curious.