The Knight's Die-lemma

Vrelorin is bored. Of course she's bored. She should be out hunting. Eating.

She a tree near the crossroads. The fig tree is one of few still supports her weight these days.

Hours have passed with no sign of the farmer. Has this one been scared off as well?

I should just take the hog.

Vrelorin snakes her neck along a branch. No. She can't steal. The Vasharii can't become interested in her part of the woods.

One of her cousins was slain two months past. One of the mountain dragons. And they have thicker hides. She can't risk attracting Vasharii here.

But stooping to buying a farm animal! She huffs. The indignation irks her.

The first snow of the season fell a few days previous. Survival means finding animals outside her normal hunts.

A horse neighs from the road. Vrelorin lifts her head from the branch. A wagon rolls towards the crossroads. In its bed a cage. And in that cage a hog.

Vrelorin releases a long, throaty, vibrating rumble. The horses whinny in response and jerk against their reins.

The dragon leaps from the fig tree and spreads her arms and legs. Her patagium unfolds and carries her above the ground. She glides out above the open plains abutting her forest and alights next to the wagon.

The driver pulls back on the reins. The strain forces his voice into a grunt, "Woooah."

Vrelorin looks the man over. He's so small. Cloaked in heavy clothes to compensate for his weak flesh. And hairy too.

How do these things kill us?

He speaks with a tremble. "'Allo lord Herghynion. I'm sor-"

"That's the forest." Vrelorin interrupts him.

"I-" The farmer glances about, casting out for something to anchor to.

"You received my message. I want that hog." Vrelorin points with one claw. "Bring it hither."

The farmer jumps to obey, bringing the hog to where the dragon waits. The man shifts while the hog snuffles the dirt.

Vrelorin spends a brief moment looking the hog over. She would have bought it were it half as thin, but appearances matter. "Say your price."

The man gulps. He opens his mouth and closes again. He swallows again. Mayhap swallowing his fear. "Could you," there's a tremble in the voice, "bless our crops?"

Vrelorin stares at the man. "I want a gold price. Treasure. Something to give you today and leave."

The farmer nods in earnest. "Alright. I only wanted--" He stops when Vrelorin narrows her eyes at him. "Never the mind. I can take eight crowns?"

The dragon waits. She has long made a practice of awaiting prey. This is not so different.

The farmer looks around again. He's probably used to having a son or cousin with him. "Seven crowns-- Make it six."

Vrelorin allows 'six' to hang in the air before easing the man's nerves. She heaves once and takes a deep breath.

The man's eyes go wide. "No! Don't burn me please! You can have the hog!" He lifts an arm to shield himself, cowering.

Vrelorin lifts her scaled lip up, revealing sharp teeth. "Burn you?" The absurdity of the cry bore repeating. "Next to the forest? I won't burn down my home." As if she breathes fire at all. "Now wait."

She heaves twice more before a clutch of small bags enters her mouth from her gullet. She feels each with her tongue.

Where... ah.

This one has the needed coin. She spits it out and swallows the others.

"Your coin." The bag is covered in mucus but otherwise whole.

Their business concluded, Vrelorin stares her new hog down. "You will follow me." The hog oinks. It's noncommittal.

The dragon rumbles again. "You will follow me." She glares at the hog with anticipation. When it stays silent, she nods, turns and trudges into the forest. She doesn't need check that the hog follows.

Vrelorin fantasizes about preparing the hog. Part of her wants to tear into it when she leaves sight of the roadside. But she has more self-respect than that.

She'll convince a fire spirit to roast the belly. And stretch out its loin for jerky to tide her through the dead of winter. The eyes could be pickled in skunk musk. And the tongue would be sprinkled with crushed ruby.

Vrelorin runs her tongue against the inner side of her teeth. She looks back at the hog for the first time since entering the forest.

It doesn't need its tongue. Maybe one taste wouldn't hurt.

"Mama!" The cry cuts through Vrelorin's thoughts.

What now?

The cry is accented with tiny sobs.

The dragon sighs. What is a child doing this far into the forest? It can't be a good sign. There are probably others with it.

Vrelorin starts to turn away from the sound, but hesitates. Returning a lost child could mean more food for the winter. The villagers would surely make that trade. The dragon shifts toward the sound of the sobbing child and creeps forward.

Nestled in tree roots is a tiny creature. It sobs between cries of 'mama' and 'I wanna go home.' Atop its head is a tussle of golden hair. The child is dressed in fine, but soiled, clothes.

It hasn't noticed Vrelorin.

The dragon lowers its head and body to the ground. Best to seem smaller. "Are you Glöhasin? Ashogflithyn? Human?" Vrelorin changes to each language as she asks.

The tiny creature looks up with wide eyes. Its brow squeezes tight as it cries out and pushes further against the tree. "Don't eat me!"

"Human." Vrelorin says. Disappointment is evident in her voice. "Vasharii by the sound of it. Your people kill mine for sport, you know."

The tiny human pulls its legs up in a fetal position.

Vrelorin squashes her anger.

Focus. Return the child. Get more food.

But how to earn its trust? She smiles, attempting to soothe the child. "Do you know Cat & Mouse?"

*****

Sir Edkar rides through the forest on Sombra, his black-coated destrier. Tracking isn't his bailiwick. Which is why Chauncy is invaluable on this quest.

The squire leads a pack mule ahead of Edkar. Chauncy is on the elderly side of squiring. It's a boon at times like this but dreadful during tourneys. Add that Chauncy spent his formative years near Alegria and it may well be divine decree that Edkar serves now in the hour of their Princess's need.

"Ah," Edkar sighs as he fingers the favor hidden in his tunic sleeve.

"What's that, sir?" Chauncy, ever attentive, doesn't let the sigh go without address.

"I was ruminating on the crown Princess." Edkar can feel the rewards to be lavished on him. That he has not yet found Luvanyus is a minor detail. Only a matter of time.

"Ah yes, sir." Chauncy says. "I think on 'er grace a'times too."

Edkar's smile drops. "Think instead on the trail. We need find the Prince."

"Yes, o' course, sir." The squire drops his voice. "Think you'll get t'enter the griffin riders after we find 'im?" That annoying habit of dropping his haitches riles Edkar. The lessons the knight provides do little good.

"Once we find Him," Edkar overcompensates the dropped haitches, "The crown Princess and Her father will reward me with what they deign see fit." Edkar furrows his brow. Had he pronounced the haitch in 'what'?

Chauncy nods. The Griffin Riders are an elite regiment. The honor of joining them is reserved for extant members of the royal line. Sir Edkar would need special dispensation. Like a marriage. He smiles, continuing with amusements of wedding a certain Princess.

"Sir, there's wailing up ahead. Or may'ap crying." Indeed yelling meets them from further ahead.

"Hush Chauncy!" Sir Edkar chides the squire. He cocks his head, inclining an ear towards the noise. With a wave he urges Chauncy to stop moving. Or talking. Even breathing. He'd wave him into non-existence while unneeded if possible.

The wailing is unmistakable. A child. Thundering footfalls follow.

Edkar spurs Sombra into a gallop, leaving Chauncy behind. Duty above squires.

The knight gains on the sound. Through the trees he sees some dark form giving chase. The boy must be ahead. Dappled light gives shape to the form. Brown and large. It lopes through a glade.

A warthog? No, too large. He kicks harder into his mount's flanks.

Sombra best not trip on a root.

Maybe a bear? A rather large one. But Edkar is hoping his eyes deceive him. The dragon roars and obliterates the fantasy of such a minor threat as a bear.

And ahead of it is the Prince. A head of blond and the fine clothes brook no argument.

"Dragon of Herghynion Forest!" Sir Edkar's challenging shout may give the beast pause. He must try. "I've come to slay thee in the name of the Emperor! Turn and face Edkar of House Bevvachan!"

The dragon turns to assess the knight. Its mottled hide is a blend of browns and greens. Broken into uneven shapes. What do they say about Forest Dragons? Besides don't fight them in a forest.

Edkar doesn't have time to ponder.

The dragon pushes on and grabs the boy with one arm before facing the knight.

"Hyah!" Sir Edkar implores the destrier again. The horse breaks through to the glade.

And is met by the dragon's full-throated, baleful, warbling roar. The cacophony explodes in Edkar's head. He winces, dropping the reins, and grips his head with that grimace.

Sombra isn't as fortunate. Whichever quirk of fate presides over knights leaves Edkar in pain but snuffs the life from his mount.

Sir Edkar is thrown from the horse as it drops mid-gallop. He recovers enough to roll with the momentum. It helps little. He pushes himself into a kneel.

The dragon takes tentative steps toward him. It's low to the ground. Slinking. The boy is clamped in its claw, so fearful he can't speak.

The lad must be terrified.

"What would you kill me with?" The dragon speaks. It's unfortunate it's not one of the stupid ones.

Sir Edkar rises. His gear lay with Sombra. If there's a distraction he may reach it before the dragon knows better. "Alas, noble beast," The dragon's eyes flare at 'beast.' "Allow me to amend. Noble dragon. My weapons are yonder," The knight waves to his dead horse. "The threat against you was merely a ruse to acquire your attention. My goal is the return of the child. On my honor we will end it there."

The dragon grips the boy. A little humph of pain escapes. "You don't expect I'll expose my throat to your blade, do you? I see the griffin on your plate."

"Wait! Don't hurt the boy." Sir Edkar edges to his left, putting the destrier's corpse directly behind him. "I serve at the emperor's pleasure, true. Nonetheless, this need not end violently."

"Hurt the child?" The dragon sets the boy on the grasses. Sir Edkar allows himself a brief moment of hope.

Then the dragon opens its maw and the Prince disappears within.

Gaze transfixed on the spot where the Prince disappeared, Sir Edkar draws his sword.

Well. Now it has to die.

****

"Sir Edkar." Chauncy clearly hasn't reconciled the child's death. His words are questioning.

"Chauncy, now is no time."

Chauncy shakes his head, "It is, sir." He speaks slowly. Deliberately. "We'll say Prince Luvanyus was killed afore we came, sir." The squire raises his eyebrows and nods.

The knight taps the pommel of his sword. Rap-tap-tap. He purses his lips. He mislikes this. "And thus it couldn't be helped." He'd been too late. "But to have slain the beast that was responsible?"

Chauncy nods again. The movement is exaggerated. "You'll still get a prize. And whatever treasure is in 'im."

"Hmmm." Sir Edkar doesn't register the last line immediately. "What do you mean 'in Him'?"

"That book you 'ad me lug about. Murega's. 'E said forest drakens keep treasure in an extra stomach."

Edkar sighs. Of course. Treasure from the beast and a meager complement from the crown Princess for a job not entirely unsuccessful. It's hardly consolation. "I need to cut the child's body from the beast's gullet in any case. I would be remiss to not retrieve the hoard. The hatchet then, Chauncy."

After minutes of hacking, Sir Edkar steps back and examines his hatchet-work. The insides are full of red, stringy things. Sacs of unknown purpose fill the cavity. A hatchet isn't best for surgery, but he doesn't have the complement of devices the chirurgeons have. The incision runs jagged and uneven from the many cuts.

"Odd." Edkar says to no one.

"What's that, sir?" Chauncy asks. His tone is without curiosity. Dutiful. Accompanied by the sound of rustling.

Edkar looks at the squire and smiles, giving him a nod of approval.

Chauncy is rifling through the mule's bags, removing various sacks. He'd even found an old lockbox. They'll be useful once the treasure is extracted from the stomach.

Edkar turns back to the dragon's open belly and frowns. He takes a long stick from the forest floor and prods a bulgier organ. "Which has the hoard?" He prods a few more organs. "What does Murega's Drakenis Scientia Libri say?"

"We left that back in Alegria, sir." Chauncy doesn't turn from his unpacking. "You said 'The beast of 'erghynion Forest slumbers in this quiet winter. Let us not be needlessly burdened with 'is book.'" His mimicry isn't disrespectful, but it's not a good approximation to Edkar. Especially with the dropped haitches.

Edkar narrows his eyes. This dragon ought to have been in some cave deeper in the forest.

Perhaps the autumn months were unkind. It needed nourishment.

Satisfied with his reasoning, Edkar examines the organs again. One of them is larger than the others. The surface of it is more wrinkly and pink.

Edkar removes a long knife from its place at the back of his belt. He quirks the corner of his mouth and kneels. Ah, wait. He stands. "Chauncy, do we have an old cloak?"

Chauncy joins him at the corpse. He speaks with an even, dry tone. "All me clothes are old."

Edkar turns his head to the squire with a raised eyebrow.

"Sir." Chauncy adds.

Edkar decides the day's strenuous events beg for one allowance. "Chauncy." He punctuates the name with a slight pause. "Do we have an old cloak of mine."

"Yes sir, o' course. I'll fetch it."

With the old cloak serving as an apron, Sir Edkar squats once more to make the incision. He hopes the organ is the creature's hoard gullet. Then he'll find the stomach and retrieve Luvanyus. Chauncy returns to the mule.

And then what?

It's not the first time he's asked himself. And still no answer. Sir Edkar blows out a huff of wistful air, letting his lips vibrate with the sigh. He shakes his head and slices into the hoard gullet.

A meek cry of pain escapes the flesh.

The knight falls backward, eyes wide.

"What's that, sir?" Chauncy asks. There's a note of concern there, but not recognition.

"No-- nothing." Sir Edkar swallows. Hand trembling, he reaches for the organ and pulls at the seam he created. Red blood streams from it.

The blond hair of the Prince, Luvanyus Druzol Mythrilius, pokes out. It's steeped in blood.

Edkar gasps. It's a sharp, abrupt noise. A single wound adorns the Prince's body. A gash at the neck.

Luvanyus looks at Sir Edkar with blurry eyes. Pleading. His lips move with a quiver.

And then he moves no more. The eyes go slack. His lips stop their quivering. His final breath seeps out without pomp.

The Prince's body is intact. It lay among a small assortment of treasures. Baubles, trinkets, items that may predate the Vasharii arrival.

Sir Edkar pulls the body of the boy from the dragon's corpse, oblivious to the blood and viscera. It is one thing to have failed but slain the dragon. But for the Prince to have died by his hand?

Princess Dyana will not understand. And His Grace King Luvanyus Skaiwola Mythrilius will have him flayed. Or maybe dropped from a griffin.

Probably both.

Sir Edkar stares unmoving at the Prince's body, feeling just slightly unhinged.

What shall I do now?

****

Chauncy sets a fire going. Taking rest in the wood is ordinarily unwise. Edkar hadn't planned to do so since a dragon lived within. But he can't return to Alegria with the Prince's body as it is.

Edkar sits against his horse for support. He holds his head in his hands. "Perhaps if we dress up a sack of potatoes?" Edkar's ideas are increasingly desperate.

"Not sure we'd find potatoes 'round this time, sir." Chauncy says, a voice of reason.

They'd found a pig wandering the wood. Steaks of its meat rest on skewers leaning above the fire. How a farm pig wandered so far into the woods they couldn't reckon.

Edkar blows a prolonged sigh. "Yes. The nearby villagers are half-starved themselves. A sack of potatoes might cost all the kingdom this late in the year."

They spend time in idle thought, watching the crackling flames lick the air. He must think of something. His honor will be restored. He cannot fail the Princess. But he already has! There has to be something he can do!

Come on Edkar. Think. Think!

"Per'aps," Chauncey begins.

Sir Edkar leans forward, nodding, "Yes?"

"Per'aps we find a gnomish man and teach 'im to act like the young Prince."

Edkar throws himself back against his steed's corpse with a groan. He rolls his eyes. "Gnomes explode when they die; I won't be responsible for the death of her grace."

"It would be long after you'd received whatever prize they give."

"I said no."

"Yes, sir."

They settle once more into comfortable silence. At least something was comfortable. The horse smells unpleasant. And its flesh is hard.

A heavy pit sits in Edkar's gut. This had been his chance to redeem himself. In front of the King. In front of the Princess. Earn his place with the Griffin Riders. Earn more favor with the Princess. Now he'd not only not regain his honor, he'll likely return to certain death.

Again the squire speaks, "Isn't there a shrine of Adriagnis two villages back?"

Sir Edkar stares at Chauncy, incredulous. "Necromancy? How could you--? How did you--?"

"My apologies, sir. I'm only trying--"

"Chauncy it's genius! I simply can't believe you thought of it before I did." Edkar rises. The motion is quick and fluid. "Load the mule. We'll drape a cloak over the body so to avoid stray gazes."

****

Without rest the trio trudges back to the shrine of Adriagnis. Edkar hopes they'll leave as a quartet. Not least because the Prince now smells worse than Sombra had.

The shrine sits atop a hill near Vedhunes. To Edkar it's the same as any other village. Chauncy had lived nearby though.

Probably how he knew about the priest. What thing did you bring back? A pet?

The shrine is a ring of calf-high stones. Menhir are dispersed at irregular intervals. A short table lay in the middle. The ground is dark, stained with what what can only be blood.

The Incarner is absent.

"Chauncy, where is this priest?"

The darkness of the night grows darker next to one of the menhir. "I'm 'ere." The voice is gravelly. Sir Edkar imagines a dwarf at breakfast. And she drops her haitches as well.

Excellent.

"'E's there, sir," Chauncy adds.

Helpful.

The knight squints into the darkness, trying to take measure of the man, or woman, that had spoken. The shape is vague, and the voice unreadable. "We have need of your service. And discretion."

"Many do." It comes from the left this time. And the shape is there now, too.

"The young boy," Now the voice is right next to them. Edkar steps back, eyes wide. "'Ow long 'as 'e been dead?"

Edkar looks at Chauncy, but the squire is entirely unperturbed. "You are talented, Incarner. I hope this display doesn't increase the cost."

Edkar appraises the priest. A woman. Her lumpy shift looks like it has a few extra potatoes. And her face...

Edkar looks away. "How did you know about the boy?"

"You aren't wrong. There's talent 'ere. I see 'is spirit drifting with you."

We're a quartet after all.

"Yes. I need him reborn. Can you do it and what is your price?"

The priestess of Adriagnis, rubs her elbow. "I asked 'ow long 'e's been dead. Looks fresh still. No more than three nights?"

"Two, in truth. Is this a concern?" How her voice grates on his nerves.

She smiles. Many teeth are missing. The empty spaces are black. Something wriggles in one. "'E 'asn't gone to the Tree yet."

Edkar glances skyward. The barest outline of Urdima, the world tree, can be seen in the darkness. "And the price?"

"Four." The word is a whisper on the wind. Edkar can't have heard it properly.

"Four what? Crowns?" He could buy two hogs with that. It is a pittance to him but a fortune to the common man.

"Nar. Nary a crown for me."

Something freezes in the knight's chest. "Four what?"

"Afore we continue. Know that the boy may return a bit... off."

Off. He's already off. He reeks of death. "He'll be alive? And won't die in some arbitrary way tomorrow?"

"Oh yes, Edkar." He hadn't told the witch his name. "But first, if you still 'ave want, I would take four years o' your life, three o' your dreams, two treasures, and your fear."

Four years isn't so bad. The end of life is least enjoyable by his observations. Three dreams? Some are fanciful anyway, like marrying the widowed crown Princess. Losing two treasures won't hurt. They'd just recovered nine from the dragon's gullet. And not having fear is a boon.

"So be it. Raise the boy"

****

When the necromancer said the boy might come back a bit off, Sir Edkar had assumed that meant out of sorts for a bit. It must be disorienting to return from the dead for a grown man, doubly so for a child. Edkar had looked forward to the challenge of endearing himself to the boy. Perhaps present himself as a father figure. Forge a bond. It would only earn him more favor with the Princess.

As pleased as Sir Edkar is to discover that was not one of the dreams that had been taken as payment, his hopes continue to wither as the boy stabs at his meat with a fierce scowl on his face. His cheeks are red and wet from crying.

He's been like this all day. And without sign of letting up soon. Far from feeling fatherly, Edkar is tempted to bind and gag the boy. Except the Princess would react with displeasure.

"Better eat up, young master." Chauncy bites into his own meat in a ridiculous manner. Trying to cheer the boy up no doubt. He ought know it's a lost cause by now.

Edkar's anger threatens to darken but he shakes himself out of it. It is only the first day. He reminds himself for the thousandth time that the boy must be exhausted. This is not his usual temperament.

At camp that night, Edkar mutters a brief prayer to Vasher that the boy feels better in the morning. High spirits will shorten the road back to Alegria. But with a toddler determined to throw tantrums all day, it had seemed endless.

Edkar wakes just after dawn with the cockerels, sitting up with an inelegant yawn and stretch. He rubs his eyes as he stands and walks just inside the treeline to relieve himself. After a deep breath and bracing himself, he returns to their small campsite and freezes.

The Prince is gone. The momentary relief is replaced with deep irritation which settles into grim determination.

"Chauncy!"

Vasher's bloody hammer. What had Edkar done to deserve this? He stalks to his squire and tears the thin blanket away.

"Chauncy! Up! Now!"

By the time their camp is packed, Edkar is is in a fowl mood indeed. Though he chuckles to himself at the wordplay. The squire tracks the young Prince back into the very forest from which they'd rescued him.

"Prince Luvanyus!"

"Prince Luvanyus!"

Sir Edkar slices his hand through the air, ordering Chauncy silent, listening intently. Curse that boy. If anything happens to him, Edkar may leave him dead this time. Edkar scowls at his thoughts. He can't do that. The idea of disappointing the Princess is unbearable.

Chauncy's head snaps leftward. "There!"

A moment later Edkar hears it. Rustling. Running?

Edkar dashes toward the sound, then promptly falls flat on his face. Gruffly standing, he looks around red in the cheeks. His eyes widen. A string is stretched between the trees he'd run through. He looks around. Are there bandits here? Protecting some sort of hide out?

No time for that. He warns Chauncy and they wait for further noise. Another rustle. The knight rushes to pursue.

He sees this string at the last second and clumsily hops over it, stumbling, but upright at least. He looks around. The Prince glares at him, a spool of twine in hand, as well as...

Edkar looks down at his sheath, then back up. But the Prince is gone. "That's my knife!"

What mischief has gotten into him?

"Prince Luvanyus, please!" Edkar yells, giving chase once more. "Think of your mother!"

"I want Verlo!"

Edkar groans with exasperation. "No, you don't!" Verlo seems to be the name of the dragon. Though it's unlike any dragon name Edkar has ever heard. The boy remembers the dragon fondly, as though it hadn't hunted him for sport or eaten him whole.

Edkar dashes around another tree and yelps, lifting up his left shin and jumping on his right foot. The boy had hit him with a tree branch!

"Yes! I want Verlo! Where is Verlo?"

Edkar grabs the Prince by the tunic before he can run again and bellows in his face. "Verlo is dead!"

The Prince's face blanches. His lip trembles. His eyes fill with tears.

"Now, you will come with me to Alegria! The forest is no place for a child, let alone a Prince!"

The Prince stares at Edkar before his face darkens with anger. "Liar!"

Edkar's eyes go wide as the Prince clumsily stabs at him with his own knife. "By the Triune, boy!" He grabs the boy's hand, wrenching the knife out of it. It had been close to cutting.

The Prince wails again.

Edkar growls and sheaths his knife. He grabs the boy and slings him over his shoulder like the sack of potatoes he wishes they'd found instead. Ignoring the boy's tiny fists pounding his back, he marches back to Chauncy. "Let's go."

Several escape attempt later, Sir Edkar decides to tie a rope from his waist to the boy's. The route through Alegria's high street is filled with watchful eyes. But with the boy's predilection towards taking his knife, he doesn't risk untying him.

An audience with the Princess is accompanied by relief surging through him like a torrential flood. Almost rid of the boy and with his mission. He can almost taste his reward. His honor restored.

When the Princess enters the room, she steals his breath away. Her radiant smile almost makes him forget the struggles he endured.

"Luvanyus!" She rushes toward them, arms outstretched.

Almost. Equal to the Princess's joy is the Prince's indifference. He is sullen and moody. Pouting as though he'd had his favorite toy taken away. This can't be the Princess's son. Surely her maids raised him better than this.

Regardless, a mother's love is blind. She scoops the boy into her arms with tearful kisses. "Luvanyus! Thank Vasher you're safe!" She looks to Edkar, tears sparkling on her long lashes. Her lips and cheeks colored in perfect red. "Sir Edkar, you deserve any boon you would name. I shall see it done."

Stunned, Sir Edkar is deafened by the blood rushing in his ears. He stares at the Princess, struck dumb by her beauty and generosity. His breath catches in his throat as a sparkle appears in her eyes.

"I know." She smiles warmly. "Dux Emydius of the Griffin Riders will arrive in a fortnight. We shall all dine together. I--"

"No!" The Prince squirms while glaring at Edkar. "Make the bad man go 'way! He killed Verlo!"

The Princess's eyes widen.

Edkar's jaw tightens. "Your Grace, I would explain--"

"And he yelled at me! He tied me up when I wanted to play!"

The Princess looks to Edkar. The new set of her mouth only serves to make Edkar angrier with the boy.

Edkar takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Your Grace, this trial has been difficult for the Prince. Perhaps he should rest while I provide a full accounting."

The Princess's frown slowly transforms into a smile. She nods. "This is wise council, Sir Edkar. Thank you. Please attend me here. I shall return presently." She departs to a side room with the Prince.

Sir Edkar breathes another sigh of relief. Perhaps not all is lost.

A cry of pain rings out from the inner chamber.

Chauncy looks to Edkar, "Sir, do you think--"

"Never fear, Chauncy. I am certain all will be well." He looks to his belt sheath.

The knife is missing.