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."

Enorwin raised his eyebrows in surprise, but decided not to question the duke's order. He walked into the room, bowing deeply. The doctor gently closed the door behind him.

Duke Hadufried lay in his bed, looking nothing like the fearless, impressive man he had been in the morning. His blonde hair was a mess and lay spread out on his pillow, like pieces of a shattered crown. His face was pale, the eyes shut, the mouth slightly opened as he breathed. Although the duke's body was covered by the sheets, Enorwin could see a small part of his bandages.

"I thank the gods that nothing vital was hit," the doctor said softly. "I don't know how the assailant did it, but he hit neither the heart nor the lungs."

Enorwin slowly approached the bed. Even though he had not been able to see it at a distance, now he noticed that the duke's body trembled.

"You asked for me, Your Grace?" Enorwin said, trying not to speak to loudly.

The man slowly opened his eyes. The clear blue irises, which had once been so lively, now seemed hollow. His breathing was heavy, as though even moving his eyelids was a great effort to him.

"I did," the duke uttered, his once mighty voice now merely a hoarse whisper.

"What can I do for you, Your Grace?" Enorwin asked.

The duke winced in pain. His eyes fell shut once more. "I have... dictated a letter to my scribe," he said weakly. "I need it to be delivered to the... to the king. Do you know anyone... who could do this for me?"

"I am sorry, Your Grace," Enorwin said. "I have already sent my squire to my father. I don't think any of my other companions can be entrusted with so important a task."

"All right," duke Hadufried said. "I will have to... look for someone else." He quietly groaned. "There is something else."

"Your Grace?" Enorwin asked. He felt immensely sorry for the duke, and he found he was prepared to do anything that might help him.

The ruler of Dracherwold forced his eyes open to look at Enorwin. "I heard that two men climbed over the walls of my castle... a while ago," he said. "I sent... a few men to take them back, but they could not capture them. I fear... I fear they may be two of your companions, Sir Enorwin."

Those disrespectful, disobedient... How could they? Was it so hard for them to just do as they were told for once? Enorwin closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. He did not want to get mad in front of the duke, especially not at a time like this.

"I am sorry, Your Grace," Enorwin said. "I will make sure that they stay inside from now on."

"Very good," the duke said. "I do not want them... to put themselves in danger."

"You are a good man, Your Grace," Enorwin said.

For a brief moment, duke Hadufried's lips curled in the slightest of smiles. "I am afraid my assailant disagreed."

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It took Maréin and Arwund much time to convince the boy that they really had not been sent by the duke, but then he finally seemed to trust them. In the meantime, more people had come out of their houses, now apparently convinced that the two strangers had not come to abduct anyone.

A woman in her thirties, who was wearing a cotton dress, suddenly came towards them. "Adalmaer!" she shouted, hurrying towards the boy. She stopped before him. "How often do I have to tell you to come inside when people enter town? Luckily, these men aren't the duke's! I was terrified!"

Adalmaer looked away in shame. "I'm sorry, mom," he said. "I saw them too late."

His mother sighed and Arwund noticed a hint of despair in the sound. "Just... be careful next time," she said. Then she looked at the two strangers. "I am sorry," she said. "You have no idea what life is like here in the valley."

"Your son said that the duke sends men to take people away," Maréin said.

"He does," the woman said. "And he has committed many more crimes."

"I would like to hear your story, ma'am," Arwund said, and then, looking at Maréin, added, "And I think my friend would, too." The wandering knight nodded.

"If you wish, I can tell you what you want to know," she said. "However, I don't think you will be able to change anything. This is duke Hadufried we're up against." Arwund noticed she had lowered her voice.

"Do not give up hope, ma'am," Maréin said.

The woman smiled sadly. "Maybe you are right," she said, "but sometimes, hope seems so far away." Tears welled up in her eyes. "My oldest son was abducted three years ago. He never returned."

Maréin gently touched her arm, a look of compassion and horror in his eyes. He threw a quick look at Arwund.

I know, Arwund thought. What are we going to do now?

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Although the assault had taken place two hours ago already, the stab wound in duke Hadufried's shoulder was still the most painful thing he had ever felt. However, the attack had made him aware of the fact that he had to act before the situation in Dracherwold got out of hand.

He had already sent a letter to the king in Portmunt, but he knew that his messenger would take many days to arrive there. And when he arrived, the king would have to organise potential auxiliary troops to send to Dracherwold. It would take weeks before they arrived. Until the king's forces reached Dracherwold, duke Hadufried would have to keep the duchy in check himself.

For a moment, he considered sending word to Gunhard, the viceroy of the Northlands. Every one of the three Garowainian provinces had its own viceroy: a noble who ran the province as the king's representative. In name, the Northern viceroy was duke Hadufried's superior; however, the law dictated that any noble's oath of loyalty was to the king alone, not to the viceroy. Therefore, the viceroy only had authority over Hadufried if the king granted him that authority, and as the duke knew, the king had of late been somewhat unsatisfied with Gunhard, whom he deemed too passive. And passivity was not something duke Hadufried needed at a time like this.

Besides, it was quite possible that Gunhard would soon be relieved of his title. If the duke called for his help now, that might come across as a sign of allegiance to the viceroy, and if it came to a conflict between Gunhard and the king, the duke preferred to be on the king's side.

A sudden sting in his back pulled the duke out of his thoughts. He let out a moan in pain and his face contorted to a grimace.

"Your Grace?" the doctor asked, worried.

"I'm fine," the duke assured him. He grunted. "At least, as fine as I can be right now."

The doctor moved closer to his bed. "Is there anything I can do for you, Your Grace?" he asked.

The duke managed to nod his head slightly. "Look if prince Enorwin is gone by now," he said. "If he is, please order Sir Tarnhald to come here."

"As you wish, Your Grace," the doctor said, bowing. He quickly went to the door and opened it. After looking around, he announced, "His Grace requests the presence of Sir Tarnhald."

So the prince was gone. That was good; the things he was going to arrange now were not meant for his ears. The boy certainly knew a lot about chivalry and courtly etiquette, but he was still too naïve to understand what it was like to be a duke. In Hadufried's opinion, a duke required a firm hand, especially in a province like Dracherwold; if he did not ruthlessly do the things necessary to maintain his duchy, it would crumble and fall apart overnight. And Enorwin lacked that ruthlessness.

Sir Tarnhald entered and bowed down, causing his reddish-brown curls to fall over his face. As he stood straight again, it moved back in place.

"Your Grace requested my presence," he said. His voice was low and rasping. A diagonal scar ran down his cheek.

"I did," the duke confirmed. His wound stung again and he suppressed a growl. Instead, he looked Sir Tarnhald in the eye – the knight's irises were a pale grey – and said, "Get together a group of knights. Show... show the valley what it mean to assault a duke."

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"I'm very sorry," Adalmaer's mother, who had introduced herself as Nibelinde, had said when her guests entered her small, wooden house, "but I cannot offer you anything to eat or drink. We barely have enough for ourselves and Adalmaer."

"That's all right," Arwund said. "We already ate this morning."

Nibelinde smiled thankfully, but the sadness in her blue eyes, which Maréin had immediately noticed upon meeting her, remained.

They sat down at a table made of rough wood, probably the family's dining table. The stools were small and unstable and had been made of the same wood.

"My husband is out of town today," Nibelinde said. "He'll be back tonight."

Maréin nodded, but said nothing.

Nibelinde let out a sigh. She began to trace the patterns in the wood with her index finger.

"Duke Hadufried has been the duke of Dracherwold for eleven years now," she said. "He was twenty-one when his father, duke Hildefried, died of a certain illness – I don't know the details. When I look back at Hildefried's rule, I can't say he was the greatest ruler ever to have lived, but at least he was a lot more humane than Hadufried. Yes, there were food shortages under Hildefried's rule as well, but he would always lower the taxes if the harvest had failed. And in doing that, he commanded our respect." She rested her chin on her palm. "After he died and Hadufried became the new duke, things changed. The taxes increased strongly, probably to support his lavish lifestyle and to pay for all those tournaments he likes to organise. Naturally, resistance to him increased, too. In response, he began..." She fell silent. A single tear ran down her cheek. "He began to abduct anyone who acted against him. Some were injured, some were killed, and some never returned. Including... including my son Laubrand."

"That's awful," Arwund said.

Nibelinde sneered. "And I'm not the only one. Everyone in this town knows at least one person who at some point managed to anger the duke and his men. Usually a friend, but too often a relative. And what can we do? We're up against a duke and his knights." She shook her head. "No, 'knight' used to be a positive term. They're not knights; they're thugs."

Maréin said nothing. He could feel Nibelinde's sadness, her desperation, her anger. Her emotions radiated off her like the rays of a dark sun.

And at that moment, a sharp neigh pierced through the cold air, followed by the growing noise of galloping hooves.

Arwund's eyes widened, and the rogue jumped up and ran to the hole in the wall that could have been a window, but was void of glass. Maréin followed suit and moved to stand beside Arwund.

A group of five knights in full suits of armour entered the town, riding on horses covered in cloths featuring the colours of every knight's coat of arms – Maréin suddenly remembered that those cloths were called caparisons. The group came to a halt near the town's well. The knight who seemed to be leading the group looked around. His armour was black, and his horse's caparison was green and black.

"Everybody! Out of your houses, right now!" the black-armoured knight commanded in a thundering voice, the sound hollow and metallic behind his helmet.

Arwund and Maréin looked at each other. And they both knew something was very, very wrong.

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A/N: I hope you enjoyed the chapter! If you have time, I greatly appreciate comments, including constructive criticism.