Durwin hastened to reassure them both. “But I have seen this before. The arm will heal”—he paused to assess the effect his next words would have—“but I must break it again and reset it correctly.”
Quentin winced, and a tear formed in the corner of Bria’s eye. “It hurts me to see you in pain, my love,” she said.
“There is but little pain. At first, yes, but not now. I can bear it.”
Durwin bent once more to his examination of the arm and shoulder. “That is what worries me, Quentin. There should be pain—a great deal of pain. I have never known it otherwise. I fear something of greater consequence than a broken bone is involved here. But what it is I cannot say.”
A knock sounded on the chamber door, and Theido stepped into the room. “What say you, Durwin? Will our young warrior’s wing heal to fly again?” Catching Durwin’s troubled frown, he added, “If I have misspoken I beg your pardon, sir.”
“No, no. You are right,” Durwin blustered. “I am being a silly old man. Of course the arm will heal. We will reset it at once.”
“At once?” Quentin closed his eyes.
“It would be best.”
“After we dine, at least?” offered Theido. “In the hall the meal is being laid. Better to face it on a full stomach, eh?”
“There is no harm. I had forgotten you all have ridden very far. Yes, there is a wonderful meal in honor of your safe return. We can attend to our business after we have eaten.”
“Then let us go directly,” said Theido. “I, for one, stand in need of some rejoicing this night. There will be little enough in the days to come.”
“Meaning what?” asked Durwin.
“Eskevar has announced a Council of War. It begins tomorrow.”
“So soon?”
Theido nodded gravely and left.
Durwin and Bria helped Quentin to his feet and pulled the robe around him after putting his injured arm in a sling. Then they all made their way to the Dragon King’s great hall.
The hall, shimmering in the light of a hundred golden torches, was even larger and more glorious than Quentin remembered. It seemed as if it had been many years since he had been in the hall. Steeped in its own kind of emotion and majestic drama, it was his favorite place in all the castle, and had deeply intrigued him since he had first seen it as a boy.
A crackling fire roared in the massive hearth, and the flames on the ranks of black stone columns marched the entire length of the hall. Long tables had been set down the center of the hall, and these terminated at the dais where the king’s table stood. A royal blue baldachin edged in silver and bearing the king’s blazon arched gracefully above his table.
The great hall was filled with people. Servants rushed here and there carrying huge platters of meat—fish, fowl, venison, pork, and dozens of roasts on spits. Knights and lords, some with their falcons on their arms, strolled with their ladies. Minstrels wandered through the crowd or played for smaller groups on request. Maidens with flowers in their hair flirted coyly with passing youths. The hall was a riot of color, a meandering current of gaiety.
Quentin’s heart swelled within him as he beheld the splendor of the Dragon King’s hall.
Two servants carrying a basin came hurrying up as the three entered. The basin was in the shape of a dragon and contained warm water scented with roses. Quentin dipped his good hand, while Bria washed it for him and then dried it with a soft linen cloth offered by one of the servants. Durwin dipped his hands, and the two young servants dashed away to offer the courtesy to other newly arrived guests.
As they moved into the stream of the jovial guests, trumpets sounded from the far end of the hall.
“Ah,” said Durwin, “we are precisely on time. Let us take our seats.”
He moved at once to the high table, and Quentin and Bria followed. Toli and Esme met them as they ascended the dais to find their places, while servants scurried around, filling goblets of onyx with wine and ale. Esme fairly glowed in her bejeweled gown. For once, thought Quentin, she looked the princess she really was.
“This is most wonderful,” she cooed. “You are so kind, Bria, to lend me one of your beautiful gowns. I feel like a woman again, after all those days on the back of a horse.” The two young women laughed; Quentin and Toli looked on, smiling.
“Toli has most kindly conducted me all through the castle, and I am much impressed. I have long heard stories of Askelon’s wealth, but the stories do not tell half.”
“You are a most welcome guest, Esme,” said Bria warmly. “We must have a talk together soon. I think we may become very good friends.”
“I would like that. I have grown up among my brothers, and female friends were rare—I think my brothers scared them away. When my business here is at an end, perhaps I will tarry here with you.”
“Please, I can think of nothing better.”
“It seems our two young women are cut of the same cloth, eh, Toli?” Quentin had stepped close to his friend while the ladies talked happily together.
“Our women?” Toli suddenly blushed.
“Bria and Esme, of course. Do you think I do not see the way you look at Esme? I saw that look once before on your silly face—the day we fished her from the sea.”
“It is not your arm that is ailing; it is your head. You begin talking strangely; perhaps I should call Durwin to take you away. This atmosphere has addled your mind.”
“My head is whole, and my eyes are not deceived, my good friend.”
Toli blushed again. The trumpets sounded a final call, and Bria said, “Let us all be seated. Toli and Esme, you must sit near us. I will arrange it.”
After a bit of fuss, they sat down together. Quentin looked down the table—past the platters of meat and pastries, trenchers of pewter and silver, baskets of breads, and tureens of vegetables—to examine the guests who shared the high table. Ronsard, who sat with Myrmior on one side and Theido on the other, caught his eye and waved; an instant later he was once again deep in conversation with the lanky knight at his side. Durwin sat to the left of Toli and on the right of the king, whose exquisitely carved chair remained empty. The queen’s chair, smaller but equally handsome, was next to it and empty too.
Quentin peeped behind the trailing baldachin, expecting the king to emerge from behind it at any moment. But even as he did so, a hush fell over the noisy hall. The trumpets sounded a ringing flourish, and in swept King Eskevar and Queen Alinea. They moved slowly through the hall toward the high table, stopping to offer a greeting to their guests along the way.
Quentin was much relieved to see that Eskevar, though grave and gaunt, moved with a spring in his step and with head erect; the crown encircled his head with a ring of fiery red gold. If anything, the king’s recent illness had given him an aspect of determined strength, of invincibility.
The royal couple moved to the dais, stopping at Quentin’s place at the far end of the table before moving on to their own chairs. “I am glad to see you safely under my roof again, my son.” The king placed a hand gently on Quentin’s good shoulder. “Let me say again that I am sorry for your hurt.”
“It is ever my joy to sit at table with you, my lord. And we have said enough already of Toli’s and my trials. I am assured that my arm will be as fit as ever in no time.”
“That is good news, Quentin,” said Alinea. She smiled with a warmth that made all feel welcome and at ease.
“Come to me tonight after the games and we will sit and talk together,” said Eskevar. Quentin was about to speak, but Alinea broke in quickly.
“My lord, you have forgotten that young people have more amusing pursuits than to sit in a chamber on a pleasant summer’s eve.”
“Of course!” Eskevar laughed. “Forgive me. Yes, I had forgotten. There will be time enough for talking. Enjoy your evening, my young friends. I will see you on the morrow.”
They moved off, and Bria leaned near to Quentin and whispered, “Your first night back and I was afraid you would become my father’s
captive.” Her green eyes held his for a moment. “Oh, do not ever leave again.”
“There is no place I would rather be than right here with you. But I think Durwin has plans for me this night, even if Eskevar does not. You have forgotten so quickly?”
“My poor darling, forgive me. I am a selfish woman. I would have you all to myself always. But may we not walk once around the garden? It is so lovely, and I have missed you so.”
One turn around the garden gave way to another, and then another. The two young couples had started off together, but Quentin soon lost sight of Toli and Esme among the winding paths.
The air was soft and warm and full of the perfume of the flora glowing softly in the moonlight in pale pastel hues. They had spoken of nothing and of nonsense and had laughed at their intimate jests, but now strolled in silence.
“Was it very bad for you?” asked Bria suddenly, but in an abstract way that made Quentin wonder what she meant.
“Being captured? Yes. I hope never to endure it again.”
“There is another kind of captivity which is terrible.”
“And that is?”
“Not knowing. When someone you love is far away and you cannot go with him, be with him, when you do not know what may happen to him . . . I was worried about you. I knew something horrible had happened.”
They walked along without speaking again for a long time. Bria sighed heavily, and Quentin murmured, “There is more on your mind, my love. What is it? Tell me.”
“I am ashamed of myself for thinking it,” Bria admitted reluctantly. “I know there is going to be a war—”
“Who has told you that?”
“No one, and no one need tell me. I just know it. Ever since you got back, I have seen nothing but Theido’s dark looks, and Ronsard has been sending messengers far and wide. You do not deny it, so it must be.”
“Yes, war is a fair possibility,” agreed Quentin.
“A fair certainty,” she corrected him. “I do not want you to go. You are injured. You would not have to go. You could stay here with me.”
“You know as well as I that would not be possible.”
“Too well I know it. The women of my family have long sent their men into battle—some have even ridden by their side. That is what makes me so ashamed. I do not care about any of that; I only want you safe.”
“Ah, Bria. How little I know you. You are possessed of an iron will and a spirit that shrinks from nothing under the heavens. I do not doubt that you could launch a thousand ships and send whole legions into battle; yet you tremble at the thought of just one soldier going away.”
“Yes, how little you know me if you think you are nothing more to me than just one soldier.” She sounded hurt and angry. Quentin, disappointed at his bungling comment, was about to make another attempt at soothing her when Durwin’s bellow boomed out behind them.
“There you are! I thought I would find you here in the only place lovers may be alone respectfully. I do not blame you for wishing to put off the ordeal at hand, but the sooner it is over, the sooner healing can begin.”
“You are right, Durwin, though I little welcome your remedy. Let us go.” He turned to Bria to take his leave.
“I am going too. You may need a woman’s touch. Besides, if someone does not watch you very closely, Durwin, you may break the wrong arm.”
“Have a care!” Quentin implored. “It is my arm you are talking about.”
“Come along,” Durwin instructed.
Bria leaned close and gave Quentin a quick kiss. “That is for courage,” she said. She kissed him again. “And that is for love.”
“Lady,” Quentin said, “I need them both tonight.”
27
Quentin, are you sleeping?” Toli crept to the high, wide bed on which his friend rested. Quentin opened his eyes when Toli came near.
“No, only resting.” Both looked at his freshly bandaged arm, set with splints of bone and wrapped in new linen. A sling of forest green—to match his cloak—was bound around his arm, which rested on his chest. “Is it time?”
“Yes. The council will sit within the hour. Would you have me attend in your stead?”
“No, I feel much better. We will both go. Has everyone arrived?” Quentin raised himself up off the bed and swung his legs over the edge. Toli placed a hand under his arm and helped him.
“The lords of the flatlands have not arrived, but are expected to be late. Theirs is a far journey. But Eskevar thinks it best not to put off beginning.
“The others are here, or will arrive shortly. Rudd, Dilg, Benniot, Fincher,Wertwin, Ameronis, and Lupollen—those I have already seen.”
“Those are enough to ratify any decision the king might make, though I do not believe there will be dissent.”
“Do not be too certain of that. Mensandor has been long at peace, and men grow soft. Some will wish to avoid conflict at any price.”
“Then we must make them see that is impossible.” He looked at his friend sadly. “Toli, I do not love war; you know that. But I have seen enough to know that it has come to us whether we will or not. We have no choice if this land is to remain free.”
They walked from Quentin’s apartment to the round, high-domed council chamber in the north tower, passing through the walled courtyard where the king sometimes held vigil when weighty matters were bearing on his mind. The courtyard was clean and fresh and the sun directly overhead.
As they entered the yard, Theido and Ronsard, deep in discussion with another, waved them over. “Ah, Quentin! It looks as though Durwin has done his worst on you. How do you feel?”
“Fit enough. He wanted to keep me abed with a potion of his, but I declined. It would have meant missing the council.”
“Do you know Lord Wertwin?” Theido introduced the man standing with them.
“He has some interesting tales to tell in council,” added Ronsard.
“Yes, your lands lie to the south of here, do they not?” inquired Quentin.
“That is correct. Just beyond Pelgrin, above Persch.” The man smiled warmly, and Quentin noticed he was missing a tooth in his lower jaw; but that and his leathery, weather-beaten visage gave the lord the rugged appearance of a tenacious fighter.
“Sir, if you do not mind my asking, however did you come so soon? It would take a messenger two days to reach you.”
“Ordinarily, yes. But I was already on my way here—as I was telling Theido and Ronsard just now.”
Quentin did not need to ask what had prompted Lord Wertwin’s trip, but he did note its timeliness. They talked a bit longer until a page came out from the tower entrance across the courtyard to ask them to come in and take their places.
They filed into the tower and up a short flight of spiraled stairs to an upper floor. The arrow loops cast a dim light in the narrow passage, which gave out onto a great, round chamber with a polished wooden floor. Shuttered windows were thrown wide to let in the sunlight, giving the chamber an open, airy feeling, though it was hollowed out of massive tower walls sixteen feet thick.
In the center of the room, a ring of chairs had been established, one for each member of the council. But there were others among them, and Quentin wondered who would occupy them. Behind each chair a stanchion raised a banner bearing the device and blazon of each participant. Some of the council members were already seated, and behind their chairs stood a squire or page ready to do his lord’s bidding. Other council members stood apart, with heads together, and talked in low tones; the room buzzed with the murmur of their conversation.
Quentin found his chair, marked by his own blazon: a flaming sword over a small dragon emblem. He smiled to himself when he saw it. The only time he ever saw his device was when in Askelon. Next to his chair sat Toli’s, whose device was a white stag running on a field of forest green. He identified Ronsard’s, a mace and a flail crossed and raised in a gauntleted hand. Theido’s was the readily recognizable black hawk with wings outstretched. There were others he had never seen be
fore, and several chairs had no banners.
In all there were fifteen chairs in the ring, but a few more stood along the wall to be added if the need arose. One by one the remaining council members took their places, and the room fell silent in expectation of the king’s entrance.
Presently a side door opening into a private chamber creaked on its iron hinges, and Durwin stepped in without ceremony, followed by the king. How tired he looks, thought Quentin. Not a king to inspire his nobles with a stirring call to arms.
Eskevar took his chair and Durwin the chair beside him, which was unmarked by a banner. The king began at once.
“My noble friends, thank you for coming.” He looked at each one around the circle. “My heart is heavy with the thought of what must be accomplished this day. I am no stranger to war and no coward. Some of you have stood with me in many glorious campaigns, and some where there was no glory for either side.
“Prudent men do not seek war, for it brings nothing good. But men of valor do not shrink from it if called to defend their homeland against a rapacious foe.
“Such is now the case. Mensandor is under invasion. At this moment foreign armies are burning our cities on the southern coast. The people there have no lords to protect them, so they flee to the hills and to the mountains.”
This last statement sent a ripple of surprise and outrage coursing through the assembled nobles. Lord Lupollen, whose lands were in the north, below Woodsend, raised his voice above the others and asked, “What enemy is this? I have heard nothing of an invasion.”
The king answered when all had quieted down once more. “As I bore certain suspicions regarding such activity, I sent the lord high marshal and the noble Theido, a trusted friend of the crown, to discover the source of my unease. I will let them tell you what they have found.”
Ronsard spoke first. “My lords, with an accompaniment of four knights, Theido and I rode out, striking first to the south. We saw nothing unusual until we reached the sea pass below Persch, where we met a band of villagers fleeing to the north by night.
“These villagers told us of an enemy moving northward along the coast. They also said that Halidom had been destroyed completely. We proposed to ride to Halidom to see with our own eyes the veracity of this report. The villagers seemed frightened and given to exaggeration.”
In the Hall of the Dragon King Page 54
