The sword and the flame dk-3

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  Queen Bria left at once and went down to meet her old friends.

  “My Lady!” said Ronsard when he saw her approaching from across the great room. They were the only ones in it except for a few servants readying the tables for breakfast, which would be served within the hour. “How lovely you look!” said the knight, smiling warmly.

  “Just as I remember your mother,” added Theido. “How is Alinea?”

  “Theido, Ronsard, I am glad you are here at last. Forgive me for pulling you from your warm beds at this early hour. My mother is well I am certain she will wish to receive you soon, but I would speak to you first.”

  Theido saw the dark shadows behind her smile and knew that the Queen had summoned them on a matter of great urgency. “Perhaps this is not the place to discuss important things,” he said. “A more private chamber would be better.”

  “Yes,” Bria agreed, “follow me.” She led them out of the hall and along the wide corridor to a small room, a council room that contained a heavy table with benches on either side, and a grouping of high-backed chairs in a further corner. The three entered, closed the door quietly, and took their seats facing one another.

  “Now then,” said Theido gently, “what has happened?”

  Bria looked from one to the other of the two knights-men she had known all her life. Trusted friends of her parents, they had served the Dragon King’s throne numerous times and stood always ready to serve again. Their stalwart devotion and her own need overwhelmed her, and she broke down and cried.

  “I hardly know where to begin,” she said, the tears streaming from her eyes.

  The two glanced at one another helplessly, both feeling the depths of her sorrow.

  “The words come hard, good sirs.” She sniffed and willed herself to stop the tears. The knights waited for her to continue. “Durwin is dead,” she said at last.

  “By the gods, no!” said Ronsard. “Say not so!”

  Theido held up his hand. Bria continued, “And my son has been taken.”

  “When did this happen?” asked Theido. “And how was it accomplished?”

  His stern tone helped Bria to calm herself. She began to speak more easily. “Yesterday, during the hunt. The Prince was to ride in the hunt-he was so proud; it was his first. Toli rode with him. Quentin and Durwin went along, but were to return to join the festival after leading the hunt.” She sniffed again, but kept her voice steady. “The King was a long time returning; we thought he had taken up the hunt as well. Then… then Toli came and… he told us what had happened… Oh…” She paused, gathered her strength, and continued. “They were attacked and fought off their assailants. Toli followed, but lost the trail. When he rejoined Durwin and Gerin they… Durwin was dead and the Prince gone. Quentin sent Toli for help. That was yesterday. I have not seen them since.”

  Theido did not speak, but his dark eyes and the scowl on his face showed what he was thinking.

  Ronsard smashed a clenched fist into the arm of his chair. “Who would dare such a thing? It is an outrage!”

  “We must organize a search at once, though-I will be frank-too much time has passed already. If the kidnappers were on horseback, they could have ridden far.”

  “Still,” put in Ronsard, “if ransom is their game, they may not have gone far at all. Indeed, they may be close at hand.”

  Theido nodded sharply. “Yes, yes. There is something in what you say. But we must hurry in any case. My Lady, in the absence of the King will you give us the authority to command a body of knights?”

  “Anything you require.”

  “Good,” said Ronsard. “I know those well who served under me. We can start there.”

  “Go,” Theido told him “Roust them out, and see that they are outfitted for the trail. I will follow directly.”

  Ronsard stood and gave a little bow to the Queen. He smiled stiffly and said, “Take courage, my Lady. We will find the boy.” He strode out of the room and was gone.

  “Is there anything else you can tell us?” Theido asked Bria.

  “I know so little. No… I have told you all I know. Toli could tell you more, but he is gone. Lord Bossit might know something.” She reached out and took Theido’s hand. “Find him, good friend. Save my child, as once you saved my father.”

  Theido pressed her hand, and she felt his confidence flowing into her in that touch. “One way or another we will find him, I know it. I do not know how long it may take, but we will rescue him unharmed. You may believe it; you must believe it.”

  “I do believe, and I pray that it is so,” she said.

  “Yes, pray. Your mother has taught me the power of women’s prayers. The god, I think, does listen most intently to a woman’s heart.”

  “Then he has heard mine through the night.” She bent her head. “Oh, Theido, if anything happens to him I do not th-”

  “We will bring him back hale and whole,” he soothed. “You will see.” He stood slowly. “I must go now and find Lord Bossit. The sooner we make a start, the better.”

  “Yes, go. And Theido… thank you for coming. You have no idea what it means to me.”

  “Would that it were a happier time, my Lady. But these days shall pass quickly and all will be right again.” The lanky knight dipped his head to her and went out.

  In the last hours of the night, when all the earth was still and waiting for the new day, Quentin had stopped along the road to rest and had fallen asleep beneath a larch tree, his cloak spread over him. Sleep offered no release or comfort; fitful, troubled was his rest, broken by dreams of futile chases and violent clashes with an unseen enemy. There descended upon him a helpless, hopeless feeling of dread and loss which pierced his heart as cruelly as any poisoned dagger, and though he slept he ached with the pain.

  He awoke more wrung out than when he lay down, and rose wearily, stiff from his hard bed among the roots of the tree. In the raw red light of dawn, Quentin rubbed his burning eyes and set about saddling Blazer once more.

  “Quentin!” The King turned his eyes to the shout and peered into the dimness of the forest trail. The sun was not yet fully up and the shadows still lay heavy along the road, but he perceived the forms of riders approaching some way off. He waited, then recognized Toli riding toward him out of the gloom.

  “Sire, at last we have found you.” The Jher’s features bore the traces of a sleepless night, but his eyes were as sharp and quick as ever.

  “Have you seen anything?” asked Quentin.

  “No, my lord. Nothing, that is, except the body of an unfortunate lying in the road.” Toli eyes examined his master carefully.

  “Yes,” said Quentin flatly. He turned away and put his foot into the stirrup, climbing back into the saddle. “I saw him, too.”

  Toli did not pursue the matter further, thinking it better to leave it for now. The others joined them, longing for an opportunity to dismount and stretch aching muscles. No one spoke directly to the King. His woeful countenance stilled their tongues.

  Only Toli had the temerity to draw him aside to speak openly. “What would you have us do, Kenta?” He used the affectionate name of years past.

  “Find my son!” Quentin snapped, his mood raw as the new morning.

  Toli wisely ignored the remark. “We should return to the castle for more men; we could cover more ground that way. We need fresh horses and supplies.”

  “Do what you will,” replied the King. His jaw was set. “I will continue the search alone.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “South.”

  “Why south? They could easily have turned off the trail anywhere. In the night we would have missed the track.”

  “What else am I to do?” shouted Quentin. The others looked at him. He lowered his voice. “I have no better choice.”

  “Return with us to Askelon. We will rest and ready ourselves for a proper search. We can send messengers out to all the towns and villages to watch for the brigands. We can-”

  “My son has been tak
en, Toli!” Quentin gestured wildly to the great forest. “I will not return until he is found. I cannot return until he is safe.”

  Toli searched the face of the one he knew so well, and yet, at this moment, seemed not to know at all. Something has changed my Kenta, he thought. This is not like him at all. Durwin’s death and the abduction of his son tormented him, twisted him. Yes, but there was something more. Then he saw it-the empty scabbard at Quentin’s side. At once he understood.

  “Come back with us, Kenta,” he said softly. “Yesterday we had a chance of finding them quickly. But now… now they have had enough time to cover their trail, to double back-who knows where they may be by now? To find them we will need help, and a leader. You are the King. Who will lead if you will not?”

  “Anyone!” snapped Quentin. “Anyone better than I. You lead the search, Toli!” The King’s eyes burned savagely; his mouth contorted into a snarl of hate. “Durwin’s blood is on your head, as is my son’s if anything happens to him. They would be safe now if you had not left them alone. You are to blame for this-it is your fault!”

  Toli, speechless, stared at his master and friend. Never had Quentin raised his voice toward him, never had he shown anger toward him. But then, he reflected, the King is right. It is my fault; I am to blame. I should never have left them alone and in danger like that. I am to blame.

  “I am sorry,” Toli started. “Sorry-”

  “Find my son!” shouted Quentin, his voice shrill. “Find him, or never let me set eyes on you again!”

  With that, the Dragon King slashed the reins across the stallion’s neck and wheeled him around. Blazer tossed his handsome white head, and Quentin glared at Toli. “Find him,” he said softly, his tone a threat. “Just find him.”

  Toli stood in the road and watched his King ride away. He watched until a bend in the road took him from sight, then went back and mounted Riv, and turned toward Askelon. No one spoke. There was nothing to say.

  FIFTEEN

  NIMROOD SAT brooding on a rock, hunched like a bent old root, twisted with age and warped by the dark forces within him. He was waiting for nightfall to undertake the final leg of their journey, for they had reached the eastern edge of the forest and the rest of the way to the temple lay through open ground. He did not want to risk traveling by day; so they waited, restlessly.

  Prince Gerin, his young mind alert to all around him, was confident he would not be harmed; and since he appeared in no immediate danger, escape could wait for the right opportunity-if he was not rescued first. He also saw quite plainly that his abductors had little spirit for the task they were about. But the old one, the one with the wild white hair and the face as lined and creased as worn leather, he was one to watch out for.

  Who was he? What did he want, and where were they taking him? These questions occupied the young captive as he sat on the ground beneath the tree, two guards with him at all times.

  He shifted uneasily, trying to loosen the bonds on his arms.

  One of the guards eyed him suspiciously, glared, but did not say anything.

  When my father comes for me, thought Gerin, you will be very sorry. I hope he comes soon; I am going to miss the rest of the hunt otherwise.

  There was no doubt in the young Prince’s mind that the King would come for him, would rescue him. All he had to do was wait. There came a sound in the wood: someone approaching quickly on foot, and noisily with much rustling of branches and cracking of twigs underfoot. Nimrood jumped up, his voice a harsh whisper. “We are found! Draw your weapons!”

  The men jumped up and drew their blades, but before anyone had a chance to position themselves for the attack, the intruder stumbled into camp. “What!” he said, startled. “No, wait!” He fell back and landed on his rump.

  “You!” said Nimrood. The man was one of the two left behind to guard their escape.

  He jumped up, glancing around quickly with frightened eyes. “I was not followed!” he cried. “Put away your swords!”

  “You better not have been followed, or I will feed you piecemeal to the birds. Where is your friend?” Nimrood demanded, shoving aside the others.

  “Dead-” The man cast a terrified look behind him, as if expecting his own death to come charging out of the woods at any moment.

  “How?” Nimrood stood with hands on his hips, eyes boring into the wretch before him.

  “He found us on the road. He guessed all.”

  “Who found you?”

  The King! He knew all about us!”

  “Bah!” Nimrood’s countenance became threatening. The guard quaked with fear. “You said too much!”

  “No, by all the gods, I swear it! We told him nothing. He knew-I don’t know how he knew, but he did. We did not have a chance.”

  “How many were with him?”

  “His Majesty-the King-was alone. I hid in the bushes in case we were forced to attack him.”

  “And?” Nimrood stepped closer. The guard grimaced and hurried on with his story.

  “Carlin pretended to be a pilgrim, but the King knew different. We tried to put him off, but-”

  “You were two against one. What happened?”

  The man’s eyes rolled with terror. “That sword of his-the Shining One! No man-no army is a match for that! You should have seen it flash. The flames! It blinded us, and I threw my hands over my eyes. When I looked, Carlin was dead. That sword…”

  Nimrood’s demeanor changed abruptly; his tone became coaxing. “Ah, yes, I see. You did right to come here with the news. Yes. But tell me”-he placed a pale hand on the man’s shoulder-“tell me more concerning that sword. The King’s sword-what did you call it?”

  “The Shining One-everyone knows about it. It is enchanted.”

  “Is it? How so?” Nimrood smiled a thin, sly, snaky smile. “I do not seem to recall anything about an enchanted sword. But then, I have been long away from Mensandor. Tell me more about it.”

  Eagerly the men told Nimrood about Zhaligkeer, the King’s wonderful sword-about its burning brightness, about the magic mines wherein it was forged, about its strange and terrible powers. They told about how Quentin, still a young man, had come riding out of the mountains with the sword and, by his hand alone, smashed the invasion of the horrible Nin and turned certain defeat into resounding victory, when the Shining One quenched the fire of the Wolf Star.

  Legends concerning the enchanted sword, and the King who wielded it, had already grown large in the land, and increased with every passing year. It was possessed of a holy power, they said. It was enchanted by a god-the one called Most High. Its flame was the symbol of the god’s presence with the King, and more.

  Nimrood listened patiently to the various stories about the sword, letting the temple guards tell him what they knew. All the time the old sorcerer was thinking to himself, Yes, this enchanted sword is just the thing. “What you say is very interesting,” he said at length. “Yes, very interesting.” He turned to the man who had just joined them. “Do you have anything else to tell me?”

  The priest thought for a moment, desperate to please the perverse Nimrood. “Oh!” he said, brightening. “Yes. The King said Durwin-the one called the hermit-was dead.”

  “Oh?” Nimrood’s heart fluttered in his breast. “How is that?”

  “I do not know. He only said, ‘You killed Durwin!’”

  “No one meant to kill him, sir,” explained one of the temple guards who had been there. “It was an accident. He was in the way. We had to stop him to get the Prince.”

  This is working better than I hoped! thought Nimrood with glee. Durwin dead! Ah, that pesky hermit out of the way. My revenge will be complete. He nodded at those around him approvingly. “Yes, accidents happen. It could not be helped. But you must tell me these things in the future. I must know everything-it does not do to withhold information from me.”

  “We thought you would be angry,” muttered one near him. “Angry? Why should I be angry? Am I unreasonable?” Nimrood smiled again, his t
hin lips splitting his lined face. “No, you will find I am quite easy to get along with if you but tell me at once. I can be quite reasonable.” He clapped his hands. “Now! Get some rest, all of you. We have far to go tonight. I want to be at the High Temple by first light tomorrow.”

  All settled down to rest for their nocturnal journey. Prince Gerin, too, rolled up into a ball, though he did not feel like sleeping; he did so to hide his tears from those around him. He did not want his captors to see him crying for his friend Durwin.

  At midday, Toli and the knights with him reached Askelon. Upon entering the inner ward yard, they found assembled nearly a score of knights with horses and squires darting here and there with provisions and equipment.

  “What is this?” asked Toli. He slid from his mount and hurried to a cluster of men standing in the center of all this activity. The ring parted as the Jher came near. “Theido! Ronsard!” he shouted when he saw them.

  Both men burst into grins and clapped him on the back. “We were hoping to see you before we rode out. And the King-” Theido halted, eyes narrowed. “You have seen nun?”

  “Yes,” replied Toli curtly. “He will not soon be returning “ “I see.” Theido frowned. “We must hold council and agree upon a plan in any case. We should not delay.”

  “With the Queen’s permission we had hoped to leave at once,” said Ronsard.

  “Yes, you must leave soon. I will join you as soon as I have eaten and washed.”

  “I will have food sent to the council chamber,” Ronsard suggested, and left to arrange it. Those who had ridden through the night with Toli took their leave also.

  Theido walked Toli a few paces aside to the massive inner curtain where they could talk more freely. The bustle continued in the yard around them. Theido leaned against the great wall and folded his arms across his chest. His black hair was threaded with much silver, and his eyebrows as well, but the years had not softened his sharp features-if anything, age had made his appearance even more commanding.

  “There is trouble between you, eh?” Theido said calmly.

  Toil looked across the yard, staring at the activity, seeing nothing. He nodded.