The Dragon King Trilogy

by Stephen Lawhead

  “Was Halidom destroyed?” asked one of the lords.

  “Yes sir. There was nothing left of it but a charred spot on the earth.”

  “What? Surely you jest?”

  “Not at all, sir.” The voice was Theido’s. “It is as he said. And not only Halidom. Illem is gone as well.”

  “But did you not see the enemy?”

  “We saw no enemy, and only one survivor of the destruction, who died as we stood over him.”

  “This is ridiculous! You ask us to believe—,” sputtered Lupollen.

  “Believe what you will, sir,” snapped Ronsard. “We say only what our eyes have seen.”

  “I must voice my dismay at this news, Sire,” said Lord Ameronis. “It does seem most unlikely. We have been at peace for over ten years, and it has been far longer since an enemy dared set foot on the soil of Mensandor. Are we to think that a raiding party has landed and terrorized the villages? That surely can be dealt with forthrightly, and no Council of War need stand to ratify such a move.”

  “Yes,” agreed Lord Rudd, “it sounds very like the time when the Vrothgar came up the Lower Plinn into the Wilderlands. Once opposed, they left readily enough.”

  Eskevar held up his hands for silence. “Please, my countrymen, if I thought that a stout body of knights would serve against this new menace, I would have dispatched them at once. But I have reason to believe the danger we now face is greater than that of a handful of barbarians raiding our cattle and crops.” He nodded to Lord Wertwin.

  “Noble friends, I came here today of my own volition, meeting the king’s courier on the road. I agree with Eskevar—there is something here deserving more serious consideration. For the past half month or more, I have been receiving a steady traffic of refugees into my defenses. Some from as far away as Don: villagers, merchants, peasants. They have come begging protection and refuge from a terrible foe which has come against them—though ’tis true few of them have ever seen him.”

  Lord Rudd loudly challenged him. “It is not so strange an occurrence to have a few peasants stirred up over nothing at all. That no one seems to have seen this awesome and mysterious enemy is proof enough for me that if he exists at all, he is no more than a band of ruffians to be crushed with a single blow.” When Rudd had finished speaking, there were murmurs of approval and nods of agreement.

  “I have seen this enemy!” said Quentin boldly. All eyes turned toward him. “And I can say he is no mere band of ruffians or barbarians seeking meat and seed. Toli and I were captured at Illem on the night that town was sacked and burned.”

  He waited for his words to sink in.

  “For two days we were held prisoner, escaping only with the help of one of the enemy’s own officials.” He paused to measure his words carefully.

  “What we saw in that camp gave us to know that the army of Nin is no thieving tribe of barbarians, nor raiders after spoil. The Ningaal are a highly trained and disciplined army, and they are moving against Mensandor.”

  “I do not believe it!” shouted Lupollen angrily. “If such a foe exists, we would know it.”

  “Obviously he is cunning beyond belief!” snapped Ameronis with cold sarcasm.

  “Believe it!” the high-pitched, cutting tone was a woman’s. The assembly turned in their chairs as one to see who dared invade the king’s council chambers.

  Quentin saw Esme standing before the door to the inner chamber. She had entered undetected and had heard what had been said.

  “Who is this woman, Sire? Send her away! The Council of War is no place for a female.” There were other complaints of a similar nature.

  “My lords, she will be heard. I have asked her to join us, and it seems that now we may hear her story. Continue, my lady, but let me inform this assembly that before them stands Princess Esme, daughter of King Troen of Elsendor.”

  Esme, looking every inch the princess that she was, with a thick circlet of silver on her brow and sheathed in a gown of deepest vermilion— Bria’s no doubt—approached the king’s chair to stand before the council. Her dark hair hung in rings to her shoulders; her black eyes sparked with an intense flame.

  “I have come to Askelon at the behest of my father to deliver a message of warning and a plea for help. What I have heard this day makes me fear for both our lands.

  “Late this spring, one of my father’s ships was attacked at sea, but managed to fight off the attacker and return to port. Troen sent to discover who this enemy might be and ordered the commander of his personal vessel to search out and engage the pirateer. The ship never returned, but an answer came—for two days later, fivescore enemy ships were sighted off our southern coast by a fishing boat. My father issued forth the fleet to engage them; my brothers took command of our ships. I was dispatched here with the warning that a very great and powerful enemy has risen and would seize our lands. I have also come to ask King Eskevar to send help in our time of need.”

  Nothing was said following Esme’s account until Eskevar asked, “Have you, then, nothing to say regarding these tidings?”

  They must believe her, thought Quentin, even if they do not believe my own story. Esme has spoken with such strength and assurance.

  “As you tell it, my lady, it makes a very convincing tale. But are we to understand that you believe the supposed enemy within our borders is the same that engages your father’s fleet? I find that quite unlikely.” With that speech Ameronis gained a few more nods of assent.

  Eskevar exploded angrily. “You seem bent on disavowing any evidence we bring before you. Why is that, Lord Ameronis?”

  Ameronis was cool in his reply. “The realm has been at peace for many years. I do not wish to see this hard-won peace so easily discarded. I, for one, do not see cause for mustering troops to oppose an enemy which no one has seen and whose intentions are inexplicable.”

  “Ah, we strike the heart of the matter at last!” said the Dragon King. A high color had risen to his cheeks and brow. His eyes, sunken and dark-rimmed from his long illness, blazed brightly. He nodded to one of the pages, who disappeared into the inner chamber to reappear a moment later with a tall stranger. The stranger, swathed in a loose-fitting blue garment, with chains of gold around his neck, entered and bowed low before the assembled lords. His black beard bristled like the quills of a hedgehog, and his eyes were sharp and direct.

  “I present to you Myrmior, prime minister to the high suzerain of Khas-I-Quair. He it was who made possible the escape of my ward and his friend. Tell us what you have to say, brave sir.”

  Myrmior bowed again and touched his fingertips to his forehead. “It was not my intention to come before you in this way, but the king has willed it so, and I obey.” He spoke smoothly, and his words had an edge that cut at the pride of the assembled lords who glared at him.

  “I was captured four years ago when the home of my people was brought under subjection to Nin, called the Destroyer. The high suzerain was beheaded like a thief in the village square after a long, bloody war that lasted five years. I, his minister, became a slave to one of Nin’s warlords.

  “I have seen much in the years since my captivity began. Nation after nation has fallen; the realms of the mighty have been crushed; lands have been laid waste before Nin and his horde. Each victory makes the Ningaal stronger and pricks their leader’s insatiable hunger for greater conquests. He has extended his empire from Sanarrath to Pelagia, and from Haldorland to Artasia. He will not stop until he rules the world, until all lands are his and all men his slaves.

  “Now he has turned his eyes upon the west and the nations of the mighty kings. If he succeeds here, as he has in every other land where he has loosed his warlords, there will be no stopping him. He will achieve what his evil heart contemplates: Nin will be the god before whom all men bow and worship.”

  Myrmior’s voice had risen steadily throughout his speech, and now the last words rang in the council chamber. No one moved or breathed. All eyes were on this mysterious messenger of doom.

/>   “Do not deceive yourselves, lords of Mensandor. You cannot hide in your castles behind your strong walls. He will search you out and destroy you as surely as the snake catches the rat.

  “Hear my words and beware! He has turned his eyes upon your kingdom and will have it for his own. There is nothing he cannot do and nothing he does not dare, for his star is growing in the east, and soon all men will know the terror of his name.”

  28

  There is naught to your discredit, Sire. You have done what a man can do. We will try again,” Theido said soothingly.

  They all sat gloomily around a large oaken table in the king’s private chamber. Eskevar stared dully at his hands clasped before him. He had raged and fumed and threatened to no avail. The Council of War had ended in a deadlock. Lords Lupollen and Ameronis openly stood against raising an army,Wertwin and Fincher pledged their support, and the rest were undecided.

  “I should have waited for the others to come; they could have made the difference. I was too hasty . . . too hasty.”

  “No,” objected Durwin. “You did the right thing. The others will not arrive until tomorrow or the next day. We need to move at once. Who knows what a delay of two days might mean? Kingdoms have fallen in less time.”

  “Meanwhile, Lupollen and Ameronis have ample time to sway the others to their side.” Eskevar sighed, and the room seemed to grow darker.

  “They will all come ’round when they see the danger,” offered Ronsard.

  “But will it be too late?” wondered Theido. “I say we should send the king’s knights out now to engage the invaders and hold them until an army can be raised. We must not let them reach Askelon unchallenged.”

  “Noble sirs, may I offer an observation?” It was Myrmior, who had been sitting in silence since the private council had begun. His impassioned appeal before the council had been to no avail, and he had retreated into a sullen mood, as had most everyone else.

  “Nothing short of total strength will dismay them. Nin’s armies are well trained and battle-ready. And there are more of them than you know. The force which Quentin and Toli met with was only one of four which are within Mensandor’s borders. They are all moving toward Askelon by various routes.”

  “Why would they?” asked Ronsard. “Why not come en masse?”

  “Nin long ago learned it was best when invading a strange land whose strengths were unknown to move in smaller forces, thus dividing the defense.

  “A few valiant men may stand against many given a tactical advantage— is this not so?”

  Nods around the table affirmed it was indeed. “But it is almost impossible to defend on four fronts at the same time. That is what you propose to do.”

  “And with few enough knights to do it,” noted the king sourly. “Our cause is lost before trumpet has been blown or blade drawn.”

  “Say not so, Sire. There is much we may do with the men we have. The others will fall in line when they learn the threat is real and not imagined.” Ronsard struck the table with his fist. He looked around to the others for support of his view.

  “Ronsard is right,” said Durwin slowly. “There is much we may do. And the sooner we begin, the better. It would be in our interest to—”

  Just then there came a rap on the chamber door. A sentry stepped in and, bowing low, said, “Sire, there is a priest without who would speak to you without delay. He has been told you are in council, but will not be put off.”

  “Will he identify himself ?” asked the king.

  “He is Biorkis, as he says,” offered the sentry.

  “The high priest? Here?” Quentin looked at Toli, who only nodded mysteriously.

  “Allow the high priest to enter. We will admit him.”

  The door was thrown wide, and an instant later Biorkis, dressed in his coarse brown robes, swept in to stand before them, a rueful smile upon his wrinkled, white face.

  “Ariel has not forsaken his servant,” the priest said. “All is as I would have wished.”

  Durwin leaped from the table so quickly, he sent his stool crashing to the floor. “Biorkis! Have you given up your vows at last?” The hermit strode to his old friend and clasped him by the arms.

  The priest shook his head sadly; his white, braided beard wagged from side to side. “It seems as if I have been released from my vows whether I would or no.” Durwin’s eyebrows arched upward. “I mean,” said the priest, “that I have been expelled from the temple.”

  “But why? Certainly it cannot be for any but a most serious offense— and what that would be from you I cannot imagine.”

  The former high priest turned to the others as Durwin drew him to the table, giving Quentin a special greeting. “It was for the most serious offense, my lords. I have been guilty of standing in the way of gross ambition. The charges were trifling ones; I persisted in seeing danger where none could be seen, in reading omens in the stars which threatened the security of the temple.”

  Durwin nodded knowingly. “We have been cast out this day for roughly the same reasons. But more of that later. I know that what you have come to tell us has not been watered down by your troubles. High priest or no, your heart will remain steadfast once it has decided on a course.”

  “Well you remember me, Durwin. You were ever one who could read a man’s inmost soul. Yes, I have come with a message, but seeing you all here leads me to believe that I have come too late for my message to be of any great service to you.”

  “Say it, by all means,” said Eskevar, “and let us judge its worth. That it has cost you your place in the temple is no small thing; rather, it speaks for the importance of your errand. What would you say to us?”

  Biorkis bowed to them all; Durwin righted his stool, offered it to the priest, and went himself in search of another. When he had been seated, Biorkis spread his hands on the table and began.

  “My lords, in my position of high priest, I worked tirelessly in the sifting of elements to discover the destinies of men and nations. It is my belief that religion should serve man in this way.

  “When an omen presents itself, it is studied carefully to determine its import and consequence. I say that to say this: an omen has arisen the like of which has never been seen. It is a star, known to all by its common name—the Wolf Star. Unchanged since time began, it has recently begun to wax with unaccustomed brilliance. It has grown so quickly as not to be believed by any who have not followed its course as closely as I have.”

  “This is the star you spoke of, is it not?” Eskevar turned toward Myrmior, who merely dipped his head in assent.

  “I see you know of it. Then I need not tell you how curious a thing it is. I have searched through the records of the temple. Back and back— as far back as records have been kept—thousands of years and more.” Biorkis smiled and inclined his white head toward Quentin.

  “This I did after your visit to me that night. Your curiosity about the star proved to me that there was something beyond novelty that study might reveal.”

  Quentin answered, “As I remember, you were very gloomy in your predictions even then. It was evil, you said, and more.”

  “Ah, that I was. Now I know I was right to believe as I did. The sacred records of the temple reveal that such a sign is not unknown. Twice before, long ages ago, such stars have been seen to grow in the sky. And though the old writing is hard to discern, and the meaning of the words is now unclear, it may be said with certainty that such omens betokened the very worst catastrophes for mankind.”

  “The end of the age!” said Durwin.

  “The end of the age,” agreed Biorkis. “In chaos and death. Destruction such as no man nor beast can survive. Nations are swept away; kingdoms vanish in a single hour, never to return. The face of the earth is changed forever. Lands rise up out of the sea, and continents submerge. All that was shall be changed in the mighty roar of the heavens rending apart. The stars fall from their courses, and the seas rise up. The rivers burn, and the earth crumbles away.

  “Thu
s is the end of the age, and it is at hand.”

  The midnight conversation that he and Toli had had in Durwin’s chamber when they had first come to Askelon leaped vividly to Quentin’s mind, inspired by Biorkis’s pronouncement. Conversation continued around the table; the voices of Ronsard, Theido, Eskevar, and Durwin sounded in his ears, but Quentin did not attend to them. They receded farther and farther from him, and then he heard them no more.

  It seemed to him that he now entered a waking dream.

  A dark, limitless horizon stretched before him, the darkness brooding and seething as a beast hungering and lying in wait for its prey. Quentin saw a small, bright figure laboring up a rocky slope to stand at last on the top of the hill.

  It was a knight in armor, and as he looked more closely, he saw that the armor shone with a cool radiance, scattering light like a prism. The knight faced the brooding darkness and placed his hands to the hilt of his sword. He drew forth his sword, and it flashed with a burning white fire.

  He raised his sword, and the darkness retreated before him. Then, with a mighty heave, the knight flung the sword into the air, where it spun, throwing off tongues of fire that filled the sky. As he did so, the knight shouted in a resounding voice, which seemed to echo in Quentin’s ears, “The sword shall burn with flames of fire. Darkness shall die: conquered, it flees on falcon’s wings.”

  The talking at the table ceased. All eyes turned toward Quentin, who stood before them, shaking his head and blinking as one awakening from a dream. The surprise on their faces, their open mouths, let Quentin know that he had not heard those words only; he had spoken them aloud before everyone there. The voice echoing in his ears was his own.

  “What did he say?” Ronsard wondered.

  “It was—I am sorry, excuse me,” Quentin blurted. Toli peered at him through squinted eyes. There were stares all around.