“We are betrayed!” bellowed Ameronis. He stood with clenched fists and pounded the rough stone of the crenel as he saw below him the king’s army flooding in through his gates.
“Rally! Rally!” cried Lupollen beside him. “We can match them blade for blade. We have superior numbers now.”
It was true. The assault on the walls had weakened the Dragon King’s forces, depleting their ranks severely. “Yes! We are far from lost!” said Ameronis. “And I will welcome the chance to exchange blows with the king and best him with his own sword.”
In the space of a dozen heartbeats, Ameronis’s troops came flying down from the battlements to engage the enemy in the outer ward. Instantly the air was shattered with the clash of arms as sword beat upon sword, and axe and mace smashed steel armor. “For the Dragon King!” cried the king’s warriors as they forced their way forward through the press.
But Ameronis’s men were tough and well trained. They held forth and did not give ground. Fierce battle raged on every side, and Quentin dodged here and there into the fray, striking again and again, until he seemed to be everywhere at once. Those of his men who were pressed hard to the point of breaking, those who slipped and were about to fall, had only to raise their eyes to see the Dragon King’s blade swinging to their aid. And if it was not the Shining One that men had learned to fear and respect, it was at least a sword in the strong hand of a deliverer.
The archers on the battlements threw down their longbows, ran to the armory, and took up crossbows—a weapon better suited to the close infighting of hand-to-hand combat—and began hurling deadly bolts into the thick of the melee, driving the king’s forces back. For none could stand against the lethal missiles that pierced even the heaviest armor, and none could get close enough to strike at the assailants.
High up in the turret above the northern tower, Ronsard and his knights, who had cheered wildly when the king’s men shoved through the gates to win the outer ward yard, now stood mute while Ameronis’s forces turned the battle once more against them.
“We must help them!” cried one of the knights.
“Here!” shouted Ronsard. “Take up the prisoners’ bows—all of you! Aim carefully, sirs—there are friends among the foe down there!”
With that, the trapped knights loosed a volley into the chaos below. Ameronis’s men, so confident only seconds before, now drew back as death came whistling after them from the skies.
“That has helped, but unless we receive more substantial aid soon, the day is lost. See? Ameronis has our forces outnumbered two men to one.”
The words were scarcely out of Ronsard’s mouth when there rose a cry from out on the field before the castle. Ronsard dashed to the far embrasure and stared down upon the escarpment and at the host of knights and footmen running forward.
“Who is it?” asked one of the knights. “I do not recognize the blazon.”
“The crest is Lord Edfrith’s, I’ll warrant.”
“An enemy! We are lost!” It appeared that Lord Edfrith and his men were swooping in behind the king to cut him off, thus crushing all hope of victory or even honorable retreat.
“No, wait!” said Ronsard. “He rides before the king’s troops!” For an instant the lord was cut off from view as he passed beneath the curtain and into the gatehouse. “Look! He has come to our aid!”
“We are saved!” shouted the knights, and the turret erupted in shouts of jubilation as Edfrith and his knights came pounding in through the gates, swords flashing, voices raised in a battle chant for the king. And all who heard it took heart.
“For Mensandor! For honor! For the Dragon King!”
Ameronis, who at that moment was cutting a swath toward the king with Zhaligkeer, glanced up and saw the army of Edfrith streaming in through the gates. He heard the chant and turned to Lupollen, who labored beside him, matching thrust for stroke. “Edfrith rides for the king! We are twice betrayed!” Despair rushed upon him, and he staggered back.
“We are not vanquished yet!” Lupollen said, grabbing him by the arm and shaking him. “You hold the sword—let us escape while we still can. With the sword we may raise an army elsewhere.”
“Good counsel. Let us fly!” Ameronis turned and fled back through the thronging soldiers and into the castle with Lupollen after him.
Surrounded and disadvantaged by now-superior forces, Lord Ameronis’s commanders threw down their weapons and begged for quarter. Cries of “Mercy! Mercy!” and “Give quarter!” rang out in the castle yard where the shouts of “Hold forth! We win!” still hung in the air, so quickly had the battle ended.
Pym and Renny, astride Tarky, peered fearfully in through the gate. Lacking weapons and armor, they had hung back from the battle at Edfrith’s command; but upon hearing the cries of the vanquished, they had come close to see the struggle ended and discover which side had won. “The king has carried the day!” shouted Renny. “Hooray! The Dragon King has won!”
“So he has for a fact,” replied Pym sagely. “We’uns nivver doubted it fer a minute, eh? No, nivver fer a minute.” They slipped in through the gate and rode into the press around the king.
Denellon, Kelkin, and Gorloic also pushed through the mob and came to stand beside Edfrith, who had dismounted, and all four stood before the king. “It is over. We declare the victory yours, Sire,” they said, and all around them raised a victory chant.
Quentin held up his hand for silence, and when the cheer died down, said, “It is not over until I hold the sword.” He stood in his stirrups and scanned the crowd. “Where is Ameronis? I will have him here before me.”
Ronsard, who wasted no time in abandoning the turret once the tower was taken, shouldered his way through the crush around the Dragon King. “Ameronis has escaped!” he called, breathless from his run down the tower stairs. “I saw him and his cunning friend fly the battle and disappear into the castle.”
“Then he has taken the sword with him!” said Gorloic. “Our efforts have been for naught!”
“Curse him!” spat Kelkin. “There is no catching him now!”
“Why?” asked Quentin, sudden panic flooding over him, twisting his stomach. “Where has he gone?”
“There is a secret passage beneath the castle,” explained Kelkin. “It leads out onto the Sipleth and to a trail along the shore. Upriver he keeps a boat in readiness. At least, his father always did. I suppose Ameronis does as well.”
At this, Quentin and Ronsard threw back their heads and laughed heartily as relief chased the dread from their faces—just as sunlight removes the shadows when the clouds have moved on.
“You find this humorous, Sire?” Kelkin asked.
“You do not know the fears your words have slain just now, my friend,” replied Ronsard. “You may just have performed your greatest service to your king.”
“How so, sir?”
“Look!” said Ronsard, raising his arm. “I think friend Theido escorts two most reluctant prisoners.”
A wide avenue parted in the company as a group of knights came marching up, pushing Ameronis and Lupollen—much chagrined, yet still defiant—before them on the points of their swords.
“Sire!” exclaimed Theido. “It is heartening to see you. We did not expect—”
“Did not expect me, I know. But did you really think I would allow the likes of Ameronis to challenge me without a fight?” asked Quentin with a smile.
Theido grinned readily. “The battle is won, and none too soon.” The tall knight placed a hand on Ameronis and pushed him forward to kneel before the king. “We caught this one and his friend trying to escape through the secret passage.”
“Give me the sword, Ameronis.” Quentin glared down at the humbled lord. Ameronis put his hand to his side and withdrew the sword from his scabbard. Laying the blade across his outstretched hands, he offered it up to the king with his eyes averted and head bowed.
Quentin took up the sword and raised it in the sunlight, then slid it home to its sheath. He said, “I do not
have time to deal with you now, traitor. But I will, and soon—you may count on it. And let your contemplation of your punishment add to its severity.” He turned to the others. “My friends, at midday tomorrow my son will die unless I meet the ransom demand. I ride at once to the High Temple.”
“I will go with you,” said Theido.
“And I,” said Ronsard. His words echoed all around, so that when the Dragon King rode out from Ameron Castle there followed behind him a great train made up of lords and soldiers and people from the countryside who had been drawn to the scene of the battle. And all made their way northward through Pelgrin Forest toward Narramoor and the High Temple beyond.
51
Rain pattered in the temple yard all through the night. Toli lay awake, listening, praying for deliverance for himself and the little prince, and for the courage to face whatever awaited them. When morning came, the sky remained dark and overcast although the rain had stopped and a fresh wind had risen from the west.
When Prince Gerin awakened, Toli stood over the place he had occupied all night during his long vigil. At the moment the boy’s eyes blinked open, he sat upright on his straw mattress and said, “Today is the day of our freedom! Isn’t it, Toli? Today my father will come for us!”
Toli nodded and smiled to see the faith of the boy, undimmed by the long, numbing days of captivity. “Yes, today we will be free.” He looked at the prince for a long while, then sat down beside him on the bed. When he spoke again, it was in a more serious tone.
“Gerin, I have something to tell you.”
The youngster waited for him to continue.
Toli turned toward him. “You know that I love you as my own son. That is why I would not have you ignorant of what may take place today.”
“I am no longer afraid, Toli. I was before, but only for a little while. But my father is king, and he will not allow anything to happen to us. I know it.”
Toli smiled again and said, “Yes, I believe he will come. But there are times when even kings are powerless over events. Your father is king, yes, but he is also a man and may not be able to change all that he would like. Sometimes things are done that no one can undo.”
Gerin remained silent for a time, thinking on Toli’s words. “Will they kill us?” he asked at last. Without waiting for an answer he blurted ahead, “I am not afraid to die.”
“There is no shame in being afraid. There have been times that I feared for my life. But courage comes in not allowing your fear to win over you.”
“Yes, but I am not afraid now. I have been thinking. The Most High has his purpose—that is what Durwin always said—and if it is that I must die so that the kingdom can be saved, then I will do it.”
Toli marveled at such simple, wholehearted trust. “Yours are brave words, young sir, and wiser than you know. And yes, it may be that our lives are required. I know that I will go easier with such a strong comrade beside me.” He pulled the boy close in a tight hug. “But we are not dead yet, and the end is not yet revealed. We must still believe that the king will save us, Gerin.”
“I know he will, Toli. He is my father.”
They talked no more of the impending confrontation, but turned to other themes, remembering happier times. When the temple guards came for them, they found the cell ringing with laughter as Toli recounted his recent recollections of the prince learning to ride and jump.
“How heartening to hear our prisoners enjoying their last moments so pleasantly,” said Nimrood, stepping into the cell. “Would you agree, Pluell?”
The high priest ducked in behind Nimrood. His face was white and his eyes and lips set in a fierce scowl. “This has gone far enough, Nimrood. Too far! Let them go now before the king gets here. There is still time.”
“Time, yes—time to groom our captives and make them presentable. We must not let anyone think that we have mistreated our guests. No, that would not do at all.” He beckoned to the guards still standing in the corridor, and they came forward carrying basins of water and clean linen towels and the prisoners’ clothes, which had been taken from them the day before. “See? Freshly laundered. Fit for the king himself. Oh, I hope he appreciates the trouble we have gone to on your behalf, Princeling. But then, I am certain he will understand.”
“Please,” begged Pluell, his face contorting in a grimace of pain, “please, let them go. There is nothing to be gained by going through with it!”
“Silence, fool!” flared Nimrood. “We have been through this time and again. You weary me with your whining. I will hear no more of it! Do you understand me? No more. It is decided.”
Toli watched the two warily as he washed himself and shed the filthy robe he had been given. “What does he mean—nothing to be gained by going through with it?” asked Toli as he pulled on his clothes.
“See?” said Nimrood, turning on the high priest. “You have ruined our surprise.”
Toli advanced on the old sorcerer. The guards drew their swords and held them at ready. “You do not plan to let us go whether the king meets the ransom or not, do you?” said Toli flatly. “You mean to kill us regardless.”
Nimrood leveled his eyes upon him, and Toli saw the depths of hate within them. He knew he faced a being of pure evil. Still, he did not shrink back. “You, Jher dog, should have known that I would never allow you to escape twice. I, Nimrood, will have my revenge—on you and that grasping, spineless king of yours. And it has not been magic that has overthrown you, no—you saw to that long ago when you robbed me of my powers. It has been my own cunning, my superior wits, that have brought you down.”
Nimrood walked across the cell to where Prince Gerin stood. Toli started to move toward him, but felt the sharp point of a sword in his back. The old necromancer placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “But you do not have to be sacrificed, boy. Look at me.” The prince raised his eyes. Nimrood gazed down at him, saying, “I will offer you a choice. Come with me. Become my pupil, and I will teach you secrets such as no man, save Nimrood only, has ever known. I could give you such powers, boy—power over fire and air, earth and water, life and death. Come with me, and let me be your teacher.” He raised a hand and stroked the youngster’s dark hair. “Eh? What say you, lad?”
“No! In the name of the Most High God!” cried Toli. “Leave the boy alone!”
Gerin shivered and, as if awakening from a lulling sleep, shook the sorcerer’s hands from him. “No!” he shouted and ran to stand with Toli.
Nimrood’s eyes narrowed to hate-filled slits. “I gave you a choice; remember that when your blood runs out upon the altar stone, impudent young cub. I could have given you powers and wealth unimaginable.”
“The Most High will reckon with you, Nimrood,” Toli said firmly. “He watches over his servants and remembers the injustices practiced against them. He will repay and bring you to account.”
Nimrood whirled on Toli, and his hand flashed out, catching the Jher on the side of the face. The blow resounded in the stunned silence that followed. “Shut up!” spat Nimrood savagely. Fire burned from his eyes; his lips dripped spittle. “Shut up! Do you think I care anything for your petty god? Ha! He is less to me than the worm that crawls through the dung heap. Little men”—Nimrood glared into every face before him—“today you will see how your little gods behave when challenged with true power!”
The necromancer turned and strode to the cell door. “I am finished, and it is time. Bring them.”
High Priest Pluell threw a frightened look behind him at the prisoners and then fled after his demented master. The temple guards, six of them altogether, some with lances and some with swords, prodded the captives with the points of their weapons and marched them off down the corridor.
“I do not know what will happen, Gerin,” whispered Toli as they walked along, guards ringing them in on every side. “But stay alert to any possibility of escape. I, too, will be watching, and if I say ‘run,’ you fly as fast as you can and do not look back. Agreed?”
“Agr
eed.” Gerin nodded resolutely, and Toli knew he would do as he was told.
When they reached the entrance hall of the temple, the great doors were thrown open and the prisoners were led out onto the steps. Before them on the flagging of the temple yard stood the great altar, which had been moved from its place in the temple near the sacred stone and established at the foot of the steps in full sight of the onlookers now crowding into the space within the walls.
People from as far away as Hinsenby, Persch, and Woodsend, and not a few from Askelon, streamed into the yard, jostling for a place to stand, for word had gone out that the prince was held in the High Temple and that the king would seek to ransom him there. And as many as could travel quickly on horse or on foot came to see their king humbled and the temple exalted and its supremacy reasserted. For though they loved their king, they feared their god more. The simple people believed that the Dragon King had angered the god Ariel of the High Temple by commissioning a new temple to be built to a strong new god; and for this the king, though king he was, must be punished.
Many, to look at them, had walked all night; their clothing was still wet from the rain they had endured to be present at the moment the king laid his enchanted sword aside. They waited reverently, whispering behind their hands to their neighbors, while others talked openly, laughing and joking about what was soon to take place.
But at the moment when the temple doors opened and the prisoners were led out to stand on the steps before the altar, a hush spread over the throng, and the people stared expectantly as the captives’ wrists were bound with braided rope.
Overhead the sky glowered down with dark menace, threatening more rain at any moment. The sun could not be seen at all, and its absence cast a heavy gloom over the scene in the temple yard. Thunder rippled in the Fiskills far off, growling ominously, like a hungry beast stalking its prey.
Toli and Gerin stood side by side on the temple steps surrounded by armed guards in scarlet cassocks. Below them, near the altar, stood the high priest and the white-haired, white-bearded Nimrood, his long black robes wrapped around him like a cloak of darkness.
The Dragon King Trilogy Page 105