In the Hall of the Dragon King

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  “Where did you hear that?” demanded Durwin, jumping up.

  “Why, I heard it just now . . . in a dream. I seem to have had a dream while everyone was talking. I do not know what it means.”

  “I do!” Biorkis fairly shouted. “It is from The Chronicles of the Northern Kings.”

  “Yes, it is. ‘The Prophecy of the Priest King.’” Durwin towered over Quentin, staring down upon him, eyes sparkling with a fierceness Quentin had never seen. Quentin squirmed uncomfortably on his stool, feeling foolish and light-headed.

  “Tell me that you have never read that anywhere, nor heard it spoken in our presence, and I shall believe you.”

  “I tell you the truth, Durwin, I never have. The words mean nothing to me, whatever you say. I know them not.”

  “It is possible that you may have heard them in Dekra,” mused Durwin. “But I think not. You would remember if you had.”

  “What is this?” asked Eskevar, his voice brittle with amazement.

  Theido and Ronsard merely gazed in surprise at what was happening before them; Myrmior rubbed his hands absently over his bearded chin, eyes narrowed to slits.

  “My lord, it is a wonder! A most powerful sign.” Biorkis closed his eyes. His head began to weave with the cadence, and the old priest’s voice swelled to fill the room as he began to recite the ancient prophecy.

  “The stars shall look upon the acts of man. They shall bring forth signs and wonders. Cities of old are still to be seen; the cunning work of giants, the skillful shaping of stone. Wind is the swiftest messenger. The clouds shall fly free forever. Thunder speaks with a mighty voice; the temples quake upon their foundations. The sacred rock shall be cloven. The spear struck upon shield shall make war. The eagle shall ascend on wings of strength; his offspring shall be honored among men. Courage shall be in the warrior. The jewel in the ring shall sit high and broad. The good man in his country shall do deeds of glory. The snake in his chamber shall be pierced. The valor of the knight shall be strong iron; his name is sung in the halls of his fathers. The wolf in the forest shall be craven. The boar in the wood is bold in the strength of his tusks. The king shall have a throne. The priest shall wear a crown. The sword shall burn with flames of fire. Darkness shall die; conquered, it flees on falcon’s wings.

  “The dragon under the hill shall be ancient; lordly, bold, and unafraid. The gods of high places shall be thrown down; theirs shall be the rage of death. The Most High shall suffer them no more. From out of the temple he has called his servant; his ways shall be exalted.”

  29

  Esme and Bria were waiting for them as they emerged from the council chambers. Quentin smiled when he saw them, though he did not feel like smiling. The two young women had become such fast friends, they were seen together everywhere, and it pleased Quentin to think that, though very different in many ways, they shared much in common, especially the same iron resolve in matters that touched them deeply. They were, he reflected, the living idea of the word princess.

  Quentin had not spoken upon emerging from the chamber. He felt weak and a little frightened of what he might say next. The vision and prophecy had unnerved him, making him feel he could no longer trust himself to behave normally. Toli had ushered them all away to a quiet spot in the kitchen, where they could sit and munch apples and be alone.

  After a while Quentin recovered some of his usual good humor and began to talk about what had happened. He told of the talk around the table, and of his dream, and the prophecy he had uttered, and how excited Durwin and Biorkis had become after hearing it. It was then that Esme related her own experience with the daughter of Orphe, and the prophecy that had been given to her in exchange for the meal she had cooked for the oracle.

  Esme recited the strange prophecy, and Quentin was struck with how similar it was to the one he had himself spoken. Both spoke of a sword of power that would vanquish the invaders with a stroke. When Esme had finished her story, they had all fallen silent for a long time, not daring to break the spell that had descended upon the little group.

  For Quentin the time of silence was welcome. He turned the words over in his mind, sifting them, holding them as they tumbled through his consciousness. His vision, so long ago received in his Blessing of the Ariga at the temple of Dekra, seemed now to be taking form, unfolding before him and pulling him along. His vision. Long had he pondered it and held it in his heart. Part of him wanted to run to it, embrace whatever lay ahead, knowing that he would never know true peace unless he did. Another part of him wanted to hold it off, to turn away from its terrible, fierce glory. And Quentin was torn between the two.

  Quentin and Toli stood in the night-darkened passageway and knocked. They heard a shuffle on the other side of the heavy door, and it was drawn open slowly. Ronsard’s broad, handsome face grinned back at them.

  “Enter, friends,” he said. “We have been waiting for you.”

  “What is the meaning of this summons? Ronsard, Theido—have you nothing better to do than keep tired men from their beds?” Quentin stepped into Durwin’s chamber, made bright by the clustered lights of tall candletrees placed around the room.

  “You will regret those harsh words soon, sir,” said Theido quietly. Quentin had spoken in fun, but though Theido smiled, Quentin could tell there was an uneasiness in the knight’s manner.

  “You are going away!” said Quentin in dismay. He glanced quickly at their faces and knew that he had guessed correctly.

  “Yes,” said Ronsard gently. “Before sunrise.”

  “But—I do not understand. Why so soon?”

  “It must be,” explained Theido. “We are leading the king’s own knights against the Ningaal. We must move at once before they have time to draw their strength together.”

  “Come in and sit down. We have a little time to part as friends ought,” said Durwin warmly.

  Quentin moved woodenly to a chair in front of the empty hearth. Toli settled on the arm of the chair beside him. What the dark-eyed Jher was feeling could not be read upon his face, though his eyes had gone hard.

  “I know it comes as a shock to you, Quentin. But this is the way it must be.” Theido’s tone was smooth and assured. “I know you had your heart set on coming with us, but I assume you also know that cannot be. With your arm, you would not last the first clash of battle.”

  Quentin was mildly flattered to think that Theido had so high an estimation of his courage. Actually, he had no wish to encounter the brutal Ningaal again.

  “That is not the cause of my misgivings, though you do me honor. You cannot go against the Ningaal with the king’s retinue alone; it would be disastrous! There are too many, and they are disciplined soldiers every one. I have seen them.”

  “We dare not wait any longer,” said Ronsard. “Every day we delay may mean much in time to come. But do not worry overmuch; we do not go entirely alone. Lord Wertwin will meet us with his troops—he will raise a hundred sturdy knights and arms for all.”

  “But four hundred or five hundred—what is that against Gurd’s thousands? And he is but one of four, if Myrmior speaks true.”

  “I think we may say that Myrmior speaks true,” laughed Ronsard. “He is going with us. He will help us to plan our strategy against the warlords.”

  “It is no small thing,” agreed Theido. “His help shall prove invaluable; I have no doubt of it.” He leaned forward and searched Quentin’s face with earnest, dark eyes. “We must go, Quentin. We must gain this time for Eskevar to bring the other lords around.

  “We did not expect such a poor show among our peers. But that is the way of it. They will see that war has come, and they will join us in the end. Of that I have no fear.”

  “But in the meantime, while they are making up their minds, you will all be killed!” said Quentin bitterly. “No. there must be some better way.”

  “This is how it will be,” said Ronsard. He stood and walked to Quentin and put his hand upon his shoulder. “Do not fear for us, for we do not fear for o
urselves. A knight can have but one death, and that one with honor or he is no true knight. I have seen enough battle that it holds no terror for me. I am content.

  “We have no intention of moving foolishly. In truth, you will not see two more cautious and prudent men as we. But we must give the king time to pull the lords together, or our cause is lost before it is begun. Myrmior has shown us that, at least.

  “Besides, I do not think you will be idle yourself. If I understand Durwin aright, he means to employ you most strenuously. You will have no time to think about us.”

  Quentin threw himself out of his chair and grabbed Ronsard by the arm with his good hand. “I will always think about you! Both of you have been more than comrades to me. I wish I could go with you and share your portion. I would gladly take my place on the battlefield with you once again.”

  “And so you shall. There will be enough battle for all of us, I’ll wager.” Theido came to stand beside a tearful Quentin.

  “The injury that keeps me here was more hurtful than I knew,” Quentin told them, embracing them both in turn. “Go, then, and may the Most High go with you and grant you his unfailing protection.”

  “And you,” the two knights said in unison.

  They moved reluctantly toward the door. Toli, coming up behind Quentin, shook both their hands and wished them, in his native tongue, singing blades and shields that never fall. And turning to Durwin he said, “Good hermit, will you say a prayer to the Most High for our brothers?”

  “Of course—I was about to suggest it myself.” The hermit of Pelgrin came forward and raised his hands before the two knights. Ronsard sank to one knee, and Theido knelt down beside him.

  “God Most High, who ever guides our steps and hears our prayers,” he said softly, “hear us now. Be to these our stout companions the sharp edge of their blade, the strength of their arm, and the protection of their shield. Show them mighty among the enemy; show them dauntless and unafraid. Go before them into battle as a lance to drive the evil from our shores. Be to them a comfort and a guide; refresh them when they are weary, and bear them up when strength is gone.

  “Banish fear from their hearts, and give them wisdom to lead their men to victory. Be to them the glory which will shine through the darkness, and bring them home to us once more.”

  The knights rose slowly. “This god of yours, Durwin, can he do so much?” asked Ronsard softly.

  “He can do all things, my friend. Do not fear to call upon him in any need. He is ever quick to aid his servants.”

  “Then from now on I will serve him—this God Most High.” He grinned at Quentin. “See, you are not the only one who listens to this prattling hermit. I have a care for my spirit, too.”

  “Truly, this is a time of wonders unceasing.” Quentin advanced and offered his hand to them. “Farewell, my friends.”

  “Farewell, Quentin. Farewell.”

  30

  Quentin and Toli had been too preoccupied with their own preparations to think beyond what lay ahead. They had spent two days following the departure of the knights gathering supplies and making ready. Then early, before the sun had risen above the dark line of Pelgrin, Toli led the horses and pack animals out across the inner ward, through the inner curtain, and into the outer ward where Durwin and Quentin waited.

  There they had been met by Alinea, Bria, and Esme. The women pressed gifts of food into their hands and exchanged kisses all around.

  “Eskevar wished me to bid you farewell,” Alinea said. “He would have come to see you away, but a king does not say good-bye. So, for him and myself, farewell. Travel swiftly and return safely. Our hearts and our prayers go with you.”

  Then Bria and Quentin had removed a little apart to speak the special feelings between them. Esme, with flowers in her hair, took one and gave it to Toli, who carried it over his heart beneath his baldric.

  The three women had accompanied them across the drawbridge and stood there, tears splashing to the ground in a gentle rain, waving them good-bye until the narrow streets of Askelon had taken them from view.

  The sadness of that parting settled heavy on Quentin’s spirit. It brooded over his waking hours for the better part of three days following. He spoke but little and moved about as one asleep. He did not notice that Toli, and to some extent Durwin, behaved in exactly the same way.

  In his lonely meditation, Quentin turned again and again to the events of the hurried last days in Askelon, and especially the meeting in Durwin’s chambers that had lasted far into the night. It now seemed shadowy and indistinct, as if he were watching smoke trails curling and rising in the night air. But it seemed real enough then, and it was that particular event that was now speeding them on their way.

  As they moved through the darkened pathways of Pelgrin Forest, now heavy with verdure, summer sitting full on every bough, Quentin rehearsed once more the happenings of that night.

  After Theido and Ronsard left Durwin’s apartment, almost before their footsteps had diminished in the corridor, Biorkis had swept in with an armful of scrolls and parchments and map skins. Since the private council with Eskevar the day before, he had disappeared; Quentin had not seen him since he heard the old priest recite the ancient prophecy that still rang in his ears.

  Biorkis, they were soon to discover, had busily buried himself in the castle’s athenaeum and there, stopping neither to eat nor sleep, scratched together the odd assemblage of material he now carried with him.

  “I have found what we need, Durwin. It was not easy—the king’s library is not at all as orderly as the temple’s, but that is to be expected. Some of these writings are barely discernible—even to a knowing eye— and quite incomplete. But my memory, and yours, of course, Durwin, will serve where the parchments fail us.”

  The old priest bustled and fretted so prodigiously in getting his texts arranged that Quentin laughed out loud. “Do not tell me we are to endure one of your interminable lessons! Spare us!”

  Biorkis cocked his head to one side. “Do not think that it would harm you, sir. You have probably forgotten all I ever taught you.”

  “Biorkis and I put our heads together upon leaving the king’s council,” Durwin explained. “I think you will be interested to hear what we have learned.” Although Durwin did not say it, Quentin knew by the glint of the hermit’s eye and the mood of high excitement that suddenly bristled in the room that the subject of the meeting had something to do with the prophecy and his strange utterance of it the day previous.

  “Yes, it is all here. Enough at any rate to allow us to act, I think, though I wish I had access to my books at the temple.” Biorkis sighed sadly.

  “And I my own at the cottage,” agreed Durwin. “Still, I have read them enough to know them from memory, I daresay.”

  “Are we to understand,” said Quentin, indicating Toli and himself, “that you believe this . . . Prophecy of the Priest King, or whatever— this has something to do with us?”

  “Not us, Sire,” said Biorkis blithely. “You!”

  Quentin had almost succeeded in putting off the feeling of awesome responsibility that went along with the thought that he might be chosen for some great task. He had almost settled into feeling his normal self again—almost, but not entirely. For the inexpressible notion that he was caught up in the swiftly running stream of history, that he was moved by an unseen hand toward an unknown destiny, and that all this had something to do with his vision of the flaming sword—this notion haunted him, lurking behind his thoughts like a shadow, or the lingering presence of a dream.

  “There are many signs by which these things can be judged, as you well know,” the priest burbled on. “Let us just say that I have spent a day and a night in sifting through all that is known about the prophecy and the events surrounding it, and that I have no good reason to doubt that the signs point to you.”

  “There are also very good reasons to believe that now is the time in which this prophecy will be fulfilled,” added Durwin.

 
Toli spoke up. “Though I have never heard of this prophecy—before it was spoken in the king’s chamber, that is—the Jher, too, have a legend that a king of the white race will arise who will usher in the age of light. He is to be called Lotheneil, the Waymaker. That is because he will lead men’s minds toward Whinoek, the God Most High.” Toli fixed Quentin with a knowing look and crossed his arms upon his chest, as if satisfied that the matter was settled.

  “Do not think that I am unwilling,” said Quentin. “But you must show me how these things pertain to me. I know nothing of this prophecy—”

  “And yet you quoted it word for word, or nearly. In the original it goes something like this: ‘Thee sword sceal byrnan with fyr flaume, Deorcin sceal dhy; deffetyn hit fleon winge falcho.’

  “I would have been quite astounded if you had spoken it in the old tongue. Still, it was surprising enough. There are fewer than five men in all of Mensandor who know and can quote that obscure prophecy. That two of them should be in the same room together at an utterance—well, it is quite remarkable. Incredible.”

  “I did not tell the whole prophecy, only part of it.” Quentin fidgeted in his high-backed chair, while Toli perched like a bird of prey beside him. “It might have been a coincidence.”

  “Quentin,” Durwin reproached softly, “you know as well as I that for the servants of the Most High, there are no coincidences. And for a prophet to quote the merest portion of a prophecy is the same as to invoke the whole. The elders at Dekra should have given ample instruction in that.”

  It was true; he had often heard and understood the elders to make reference to various events and happenings in the sacred texts, quoting portions of the text and implying the rest. He knew Durwin could see through any attempt on his part to distance himself from the events that were forming on all sides. It seemed to Quentin that a web of circumstances was weaving itself around him, pulling tighter and tighter. Soon he would be trapped by a destiny he had not foreseen and was not certain he could fulfill.