In the Hall of the Dragon King dk-1

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  The comical pair retreated to the kitchen then, only to reappear at frequent intervals to pester the diners with more food and drink. “Eat!” the woman scolded. “Eat, eat, eat! Please! You’re not eating!”

  As the diners finished they left the board to others who sat down in their places. Theido and Quentin, at Theido’s command, ate leisurely and with slow deliberation. Theido’s watchful gaze swept over the roistering scene, alert to any hint of discovery. But even his quick eyes failed to see a small, dark man appear at the door like a shadow and slink into a darkened corner. The spy left moments later, undetected.

  After a while Milcher, the busy little proprietor of the inn, stepped around to see how his newest guests were accommodated. “You will be staying the night with us, I trust?” he asked.

  “Yes, you have us at your mercy,” replied Theido with a grin.

  “Good. I thought so-I have already stabled your horses for the night. But who’s this?” he exclaimed, noticing Quentin’s benevolent stare. “I don’t think you’ve introduced me to your friend, Theido.” He beamed down upon the boy with a face red from running on his endless errands.

  “Haven’t I?” said Theido casually. “Well I thought you knew. This is my nephew, Quentin.”

  “Oh, of course! I knew it all along, didn’t I? But my, so big already. Hasn’t he grown.” With that the little man was off again buzzing like a bee in some other corner of the noisy, crowded room.

  “Let us hope no one else takes an interest in my family life tonight. Milcher can talk more than any twenty women. I would rather our little visit was known by as few as possible.”

  “You think someone might be looking for us?” The thought had just occurred to Quentin.

  “It is likely. Whoever killed Ronsard, or had him killed, must know by now that the secret he carried did not die with him. Although we cannot be sure. Maybe they did not know about the message.”

  “You mean he was not attacked by outlaws?”

  “No, lad. Or, at least not altogether. Outlaws may have been hired for the deed, but they would scarcely have gone up against a King’s knight without better reason than his purse. Even an outlaw values his life more than that, I think. No, it was probably someone who knew what he carried, or suspected his mission.”

  “Prince Jaspin maybe?” The intrigues of court were new to Quentin, but he found himself irresistibly drawn to them. His quick mind leaped ahead to all sorts of possible collusions, a fox in a yard of plump chickens.

  “Maybe. It would not be the first time he has used others for deeds he would not do himself. But I think there is some other-I cannot say why. I feel it here.” He pointed to his stomach. “And now, if you are well stuffed we might as well be off to bed. We must still find a way to guarantee our private audience with the Queen tomorrow.”

  Milcher returned and bustled them off to their room where his wife, the jolly, red-faced woman, had laid aside the bedclothes of a high sturdy bed. A smaller, more portable pallet had been placed near the fireplace which warmed the apartment. The chamber was square and plain, but private and cozy enough. There was no window, a feature Theido had requested.

  “Sleep well tonight, good guests. Sleep well!” said the innkeeper, closing the door to their chamber and tiptoeing quietly away.

  “I should just loosen my belt if I were you,” warned Theido, as Quentin, seated on the edge of the pallet, began pulling off his tunic. “Tonight we must be ready for anything.”

  Not far distant, high up on the hill in Askelon castle, a candle burned low in a spacious and richly appointed bedchamber. The floors were of white marble and the walls hung with exquisite tapestries depicting the occupant’s favorite pastime: the hunt. A magnificently carved table spread with a vast cloth of dark blue embroidered with thread spun from silver supported a surface littered with maps and scrolls of parchment. At one end of the domed room-for it was the uppermost chamber of the east tower-a crackling fire burned brightly in an ornamented fireplace overhung by a heavy oaken mantle carved with the crest and blazon of a previous resident.

  A melancholy figure sat hunched in a great chair with a high back and wings on either side to keep off the draft which seeped through the old castle walls. The chair, more a small throne, was drawn near the fire, but its tenant seemed to draw neither warmth nor comfort from the dancing flames. Instead he stared dejectedly into the blaze, with a tall horn cup of wine, untasted, in his hand.

  Prince Jaspin scarcely stirred when the sound of a sharp rap reached his ears from the outer door of his private chambers. A breathless chamberlain presently returned with the news that a certain knight wished audience with him. Upon learning the man’s name, Prince Jaspin exploded.

  “Send him here directly, you old fool! I have been waiting days to hear his news and you keep him cooling in the corridor like a side of beef. I should have you flayed!”

  The chamberlain, well accustomed to his master’s fits, did not hear what was said in his absence, leaving at once to bring this most desired visitor before the angry Prince.

  “Tell me, Sir Bran, what news? Have you found him yet?” Jaspin leaped from his chair as the knight entered.

  “Yes, he is here-in the village,” the knight said, bending low from the waist in a quick bow.

  “In the village! Where? I shall seize him at once!”

  “I would caution you against such a move, your grace. It would attract too much attention. We do not know how many there are-he might have brought some of his men with him. Anyway, it is better done in the daylight.”

  “Yes, I suppose you are right.” The Prince settled back into the silk cushions of his chair, much pleased by the news. “We must not blunder this opportunity as we did the last.” He paused and asked casually, “Are you certain Ronsard is dead?”

  “Quite certain.” The knight, dressed in a fur-lined cape and gloves over a rich tunic of fine brocaded linen, began removing his gloves. The chamberlain brought a chair and took away his cloak. The powerfully built knight poured himself a goblet of wine from a standing flagon and downed half of it in one swallow. “You do live well, my Prince,” he said as he sat down opposite Jaspin.

  “Those who support my cause will not need neglect their appetite for finery, I can assure you. Have I told you, Bran, I am thinking of giving you Crandall for your efforts? What would you do with it, I wonder?”

  “Give it to me, and you shall see,” retorted the knight.

  “You are anxious, aren’t you,” the Prince laughed. “Yes, by and by we shall see. I would give it to you now, only that spoiler Theido-or whatever he calls himself-is still loose and roaming about. We cannot have him coming forward and pressing his claim… how awkward that would be.”

  “I can deal with him,” sneered Bran, pouring himself another goblet of wine.

  “As you dealt with Ronsard?” the Prince jibed.

  “You will remember we did not know it was Ronsard until the very encounter. Anyway, with his wounds and the freezing cold he did not go far. That I know.”

  “But you never found the body, did you?” the Prince said firmly.

  “It was snowing, by Zoar!” the knight snapped angrily. “Do you not believe me? The snow covered everything within the hour. His horse wandered off and left him where he fell, and the snow covered him…”

  “Yes, yes. I know. The snow-you watched the ambush from some distance…”

  “And by the time I got there I could find but two of my own men!”

  “Well it is over. Now to put an end to our other problem, this outlaw leader-what do they call him?”

  “The Hawk,” said the knight sullenly.

  “Yes. Strange this Hawk suddenly showing himself-and so close at hand. How do you explain it?” insinuated the Prince in a sly voice.

  “I do not explain it!” The knight banged his silver goblet down upon the arm of the chair; wine sloshed up over the rim, wetting his hand. “Happenchance-it’s a coincidence, nothing more,” he said, straining to contr
ol his temper. “Or perhaps one of the worthless robbers I hired for this… this transaction returned to his den and wagged his tail for his master.”

  “Possibly, possibly. There is no honor among dogs, you know,” Jaspin quipped.

  The Prince sipped his wine and sat silent for a time, gazing into the fire now beginning to dwindle. “I suppose we shall have to ask our friend Hawk tomorrow.”

  The knight smiled quickly and took another deep draught of his wine. “Yes, we will hear the rascal sing tomorrow.”

  SIX

  THE KNIGHT, Sir Bran, after finishing his wine, exchanged a few words with the Prince regarding the impending capture of the outlaw Hawk the next morning. The Prince dismissed him then and waited until he had gone before calling his chamberlain and discharging him for the night as well.

  As soon as he heard the door to the outer chamber creak shut he got up and, taking the candle from the table, made his way to a darkened alcove across the room, hidden from view behind a lower portion of one of the giant tapestries. Slipping behind the tapestry Jaspin entered the alcove and, fishing among the folds of his clothing, brought out a key with which he unlocked a private door set back and cunningly secreted at the further side.

  The Prince stepped silently into his secret chamber and placed the candle upon a small table waiting there and settled himself into a chair before the table.

  Upon the table sat a small box resting on an elegant cloth of velvet. The box, richly enameled in fiery red and inlaid with gold tracery and pearls gleamed, its fine artistry shimmering in the flickering light of the single flame.

  Prince Jaspin wasted no time but placed his hands upon either side of the box and lifted it away. On the table before him remained a curious object resting on the cloth-a pyramid of gold incised with strange hieroglyphs. The entire surface of the pyramid had been inscribed with queer and fantastic runes which were, he considered, the source of its unusual power.

  Prince Jaspin gazed upon his prize with an odd glint in his eye, as if lit by some unnatural source from deep within. The pyramid always had this effect upon him; he felt bold, invincible, and clever beyond human cleverness.

  The golden pyramid was the gift of Nimrood, known as the Necromancer, a cunning old sorcerer whom Jaspin employed as a partner in skullduggery. Many a night did Jaspin draw upon the secret of his strange object and the knowledge of its inventor. But of late, Jaspin received less and less assurance from his accomplice and felt seeds of deep distrust beginning to sprout.

  Placing his hands on two sides of the pyramid, Jaspin closed his eyes and murmured a soft incantation. Slowly the pyramid, pale in the dancing light, began to glow with a ghostly luminescence. The glow became brighter, casting Jaspin’s features into high relief and throwing shadows of his hunkered form upon the wall. As the unearthly illumination reached its apex the sides of the pyramid began to grow indistinct and hazy, although they remained solid under the Prince’s touch. The pyramid, now lit with an almost piercing light from within, became translucent; Jaspin could see his own hands dimly through the sides. In a moment the strange device had become completely transparent, almost invisible, and Jaspin looked long into its crystal depths.

  A pale green mist shrouded the interior from view, but as Jaspin watched the mist began to thin into stringy, straggling wisps. Now the form of a man could be distinguished, walking, as if from a great distance, toward Jaspin. But even as the man walked he drew closer with alarming speed so that instantly Jaspin was face-to-face, as it were, with his old sorcerer.

  It was not a face to be admired. Twisted. Cruel. Two piercing eyes burned out from under a heavy, menacing brow. Despite the wizard’s obvious age, wild, dark hair shot through with streaks of white formed a formidable mane around the man’s large head. The face was creased with interwoven wrinkles, each crevice representing an evil its owner had contemplated.

  “Ah, Prince Jaspin!” The necromancer hissed rather than spoke. “I was expecting your summons. I trust everything is as I said it would be?”

  “Yes, your information is always good, Nimrood,” the Prince replied, his eyes gleaming. “The knight Ronsard appeared just as you predicted, and was intercepted before his work could be completed. Unfortunately, we may never know what that errand was-he was killed in the ambush.”

  “A pity. He could have told us much, no doubt. But we have other ways.”

  “And another of your seeds is about to bear fruit, wizard. The outlaw Hawk has surfaced again-as you suggested he would. This time we are ready for him. By midday tomorrow that irksome band of renegades will be without a leader.”

  “Do not make the mistake of underestimating him once again,” the conjurer warned. “He has outfoxed you before, as you well know.” The necromancer grimaced, and his wrinkles deepened ominously.

  “Do not think I will let him slip away again. My headsman’s blade is thirsty, and an outlaw’s blood is just the refreshment I shall recommend. His head shall adorn a pike in the village square. Those bandits will see how lightly I consider their threats.”

  “I shall have no opposition when the Council of Regents meets and I shall be named king. The petitions are already signed.” The Prince rubbed his hands in greedy anticipation of the event. “All is ready.”

  “What about the Queen?” the wizard asked slyly. “Will she agree to step down so easily? Is her power already so diminished?”

  “The Queen will agree to see things as I see them. She is strong, but she is a woman. Besides, if offered the choice between Eskevar’s head, or Eskevar’s crown, I rather believe she would choose his head.”

  “She may lose both, however-as will Eskevar! Ha! Ha!” cackled Nimrood.

  “That is your concern, not mine. Leave me out of it. You get the King and I his crown-that was our agreement. I do not want any difficulties. I cannot afford to arouse the suspicions of the people; I need their support for the while.”

  “I am your servant, Prince Jaspin,” the wizard replied. “Is there anything more you require?”

  “No, I think not. All is ready, now,” the Prince replied, and added, “Is my brother comfortable?”

  “Oh, yes, Eskevar is after all the King.” The necromancer laughed suddenly and Jaspin felt an unaccountable anger spring up inside his breast.

  “But not for long!” he cried. “Soon there will be a new monarch on the throne. That I promise!”

  The sorcerer appeared to bow low and suddenly the pyramid went dim, its sides becoming once more opaque and cold. Jaspin replaced its ornamented cover and, taking up the candle, left the room at once. He did not know why, but the mere mention of his brother’s name upset him. That night it troubled his sleep with dreams of doubt and fear.

  Quentin awoke with a start in the strange room. He glanced to Theido’s bed and saw that it was empty. He threw off the coverlet and raised himself off the pallet and took up his cloak and went off in search of his friend.

  Theido was discovered in the stable behind the inn, looking to the horses. “Good morning, lad. I am glad to see an early riser. I have only just come down myself.” He straightened from his work of strewing fodder for the horses. “Well, that is done. Let us fend for ourselves as well.”

  They ate together at a small table in the kitchen, for Theido wished to have privacy, although none of the other guests, if there were any, had stirred.

  “I have a plan that will do for us,” Theido said, speaking in low tones. Quentin ate quietly and listened to the plan as Theido described it.

  The plan was simple: they would enter as furriers just arriving from trading in the wilderlands, and would offer to show the Queen the finest of the treasures they had obtained.

  “We have no furs,” Quentin had objected, and Theido countered by telling him they would not need any. They were merely to be admitted in order to make a proper appointment and to receive any garments which the Queen might wish to have adorned with their wares. Such appointments were not uncommon with craftsmen of high repute. However,
once in the Queen’s presence they would discard the ruse and make known the real purpose for their visit.

  “Now, if something goes wrong,” Theido continued, his voice steady and his eyes hard in earnest, “you get out any way you can. Do not stop to think or look around, just run. Go back to Durwin and tell him what has taken place. He will know what to do. Hear what I say, and obey. Understood?”

  Quentin nodded solemnly. He had not considered the possibility that they might indeed fail. But Theido, noticing the boy’s somber mood smiled and said, “Cheer up, lad. It is not the first time I have been hunted by Jaspin’s men. I can take care of myself. Besides, my plans seldom fail.” Quentin was not comforted by the thought. They finished breakfast and left by the kitchen entrance, crossing the yard to the horses. Upon reaching the stables Theido threw open the wide doors and froze in his tracks. “Run! Get away!” he shouted to Quentin, at the same time throwing his cloak aside and drawing out a short sword from a hidden scabbard. Quentin stood rooted in terror. Theido turned on him and shoved him away, saying, “Run! You must get free!”

  In the same instant two riders bolted from inside the stable. Both had swords drawn and small arm shields, or bucklers, held at ready to ward off their captive’s blows. Quentin turned and fled, looking back over his shoulder as he ran. He saw Theido thrust beneath the shield of one of the armed men who knocked the blow aside just as the other, while pinning their quarry between their horses, raised his sword to deliver the fatal stroke.