A Fate of Dragons. Morgan Rice

what she was doing here. He needed another chance to set his eyes upon her, to see if he had been imagining it or if he would still feel the way he did.

      “My servants tell me she lives on the city’s outskirts,” the Duke explained, talking as they walked. As they went, people on all sides of the streets opened their shutters and looked down, amazed at the presence of the Duke and his entourage in the common streets.

      “Apparently, she is servant to an innkeeper. Nobody knows her origin, where she came from. All they know is that she arrived in our city one day, and became an indentured servant to this innkeeper. Her past, it seems, is a mystery.”

      They all turned down another side street, the cobblestone beneath them becoming more crooked, the small dwellings closer to each other and more dilapidated, as they went. The Duke cleared his throat.

      “I took her in as a servant in my court on special occasions. She is quiet, keeps to herself. No one knows much about her. Erec,” the Duke said, finally turning to Erec, laying a hand on his wrist, “are you certain about this? This woman, whoever she is, is just another commoner. You can have your choice of any woman in the kingdom.”

      Erec looked back at him with equal intensity.

      “I must see this girl again. I don’t care who she is.”

      The Duke shook his head in disapproval, and they all continued walking, turning down street after street, passing through twisting, narrow alleyways. As they went, this neighborhood of Savaria became even seedier, the streets filled with drunken types, lined with filth, chickens and wild dogs roaming about. They passed tavern after tavern, the screams of patrons carrying out into the streets. Several drunks stumbled before them, and as night began to fall, the streets began to be lit by torches.

      “Make way for the Duke!” shouted his lead attendant, rushing forward and finally pushing drunks out of the way. All up and down the streets unsavory types parted ways and watched, amazed, as the Duke passed, Erec beside him.

      Finally, they arrived at a small, humble inn, built of stucco, with a pitched, slate roof. It looked as if it could hold maybe fifty patrons in its tavern below, with a few rooms for guests above. The front door was crooked, one window was broken, and its entry lamp hung crookedly, its torch flickering, the wax too low. Shouts of drunks spilled out the windows, as they all they stopped before the door.

      How could such a fine girl work in a place like this? Erec wondered, horrified, as he heard the shouts and jeers from inside. His heart broke as he thought of it, as he thought of the indignity she must suffer in such a place. It’s not fair, he thought. He felt determined to rescue her from it.

      “Why do you come to the worst possible place to choose a bride?” the Duke asked, turning to Erec.

      Brandt turned to him too.

      “Last chance, my friend,” Brandt said. “There is a castle full of royal women waiting for you back there.”

      But Erec shook his head, determined.

      “Open the door,” he commanded.

      One of the Duke’s men rushed forward and yanked it open. The smell of stale ale came out in waves, making him recoil.

      Inside, drunken men were hunched over the bar, seated along wooden tables, shouting too loudly, laughing, jeering and jostling each other. They were crude types, Erec could see that at once, with bellies too large, cheeks unshaven, clothes unwashed. None of them warriors.

      Erec took several steps in, searching the place for her. He could not possibly imagine that a woman like her could work in such a place. He wondered if maybe they had come to the wrong dwelling.

      “Excuse me, sir, I’m looking for a woman,” Erec said to the man standing beside him, tall and wide, with a big belly, unshaven.

      “Are you then?” the man yelled out, mocking. “Well, you’ve come to the wrong place! This is not a brothel. Although there is one across the street – and I hear the women there are fine and plump!”

      The man started laughing, too loudly, in Erec’s face, and several of his fellows joined in.

      “It is not a brothel I seek,” Erec answered, unamused, “but a single woman, one who works here.”

      “You must mean then the innkeeper’s servant,” called out someone else, another large, drunk man. “She’s probably in the back somewhere, scrubbing the floors. Too bad – I wish she were up here, on my lap!”

      The men all screamed out in laughter, overwhelmed with their own jokes, and Erec reddened at the thought of it. He felt ashamed for her. For her to have to serve all of these types – it was an indignity that was too much for him to contemplate.

      “And you are?” came another voice.

      A man stepped forward, wider than the others, with a dark beard and eyes, a deep scowl, a wide jaw, accompanied by several seedy men. He had more muscle on him than fat, and he approached Erec threateningly, clearly territorial.

      “Are you trying to steal my servant girl?” he demanded. “Out with you then!”

      He stepped forward and reached out to grab Erec.

      But Erec, hardened by years of training, the kingdom’s greatest knight, had reflexes beyond what this man could imagine. The moment his hands touched Erec, he sprang into action, grabbing his wrist in a lock, spinning the man around with lightning speed, grabbing him by the back of his shirt, and shoving him across the room.

      The big man went flying like a cannonball, and he took several men out with him, all of them crashing to the floor of the small place like bowling pins.

      The entire room grew silent, as every man stopped and watched.

      “FIGHT! FIGHT!” the men chanted.

      The innkeeper, dazed, stumbled to his feet and charged for Erec with a shout.

      This time Erec did not wait. He stepped forward to meet his attacker, raised an arm, and brought his elbow straight down on the man’s face, breaking his nose.

      The innkeeper stumbled backwards, then collapsed, landing on the floor on his rear.

      Erec stepped forward, picked him up, and despite his size, hoisted him high above his head. He took several steps forward and threw the man, and he went flying through the air, taking half the room down with him.

      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