The sword and the flame dk-3

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  In the midst of this ordered confusion, the walls of the new temple, the temple of the Most High, rose slowly and almost imperceptibly. The work was in its sixth year, and it sometimes seemed to Quentin that it would never end.

  He was impatient for the temple to be finished, for its completion would inaugurate the new era; and in this temple he would lead in the worship of Mensandor’s new god. The temple would be a symbol to all the realm that the new age had dawned at last.

  The old gods are dead, he would proclaim. Worship the new god, the Most High, Creator and Ruler of all!

  Word of the new temple had quickly spread throughout the land since construction had begun. There was not a house in all the realm that did not know of the King’s Temple, as it was called. But six years had passed, and four more at least were needed before it could be completed. Until then… well, there was much work to do until then.

  Quentin heard the jingle of bells behind him and turned to see Blazer tossing his head impatiently. The great horse had cropped all the sweet grass within reach and was ready to move on. He tossed his head restlessly, setting the little bells braided into his mane and along his silver bridle ringing, as if to say, “Away! The sun is up; the day is good. Let us run!”

  Quentin smiled and walked to the animal, placing his hand on the horse’s broad nose. “You are impatient and so am I, old friend. Very well,” said the King, raising his foot to the stirrup, “we will go. I have bothered these good men enough for one day.”

  He swung himself easily up into the saddle and jerked the reins. Blazer lifted his forelegs off the ground and spun around. Quentin lifted his hand to Bertram, who waved back, and then Blazer leapt away. They raced along the road leading down the broad slope of the hill, dodging the ox-drawn wains bearing food and supplies to the workmen. Then, feeling the sun on his face and the beauty of the day springing up inside him, the King spurred Blazer off the road and let him run down the side of the hill and out onto the plain below Askelon.

  The castle rose up on its crown of rock, shining like a jewel in the morning light. Red and blue pennons fluttered and snapped from a thousand spires. The high battlements soared above, topped with turrets and barbicans-strong, safe, forever secure.

  Quentin enjoyed the strength of the animal beneath him; his heart raced as they thundered over the still-damp ground. Blazer’s hoofs struck up muddy turf and flung it skyward as they galloped on.

  Presently they came to a great stone cenotaph standing alone in the center of the plain. Quentin reined Blazer to a trot as they approached. They stopped in front of the cenotaph, and Quentin dismounted. He walked to the monument and knelt at its base.

  Inscribed in stone on both sides of the slab were the words Quentin knew by heart. Yet he read them once again. They said:

  Here upon this field did the warriors on Mensandor meet and defeat in battle the barbarian host of Nin, called The Destroyer.

  Here Eskevar, Dragon King, Lord of the Realm, fell, and many brave men with him, nevermore to rise. Peace was purchased with their blood and freedom with their blades.

  After reading the words he had read so often; Quentin stood and remounted and rode off once more toward Askelon.

  THREE

  AWAY EAST of the city, in a meadow ringed with ancient oaks, secluded from prying eyes, Toli and Prince Gerin rode together. “Try it again, young Prince,” called Toli, turning the cantering Riv toward a well-worn path where the great trunk of a fallen tree lay.

  The Prince, a hardy young boy of nine with a tousled mane of dark brown hair, studied the obstacle before him, his quick green eyes narrowed in utmost concentration, his mouth pulled into a pucker. Flushed with excitement, color rising red to his cheeks, Gerin thrust out his jaw earnestly. The act was such an exact parody of the King that Toli chuckled behind his fist in order to keep from laughing aloud.

  Then, with a flick of the reins, the Prince kicked his heels into his pony’s flanks and away they flew, back down the path toward the fallen trunk.

  At the last second the little Prince threw the reins ahead and leaned forward against the horse’s neck. The pony lifted its legs and soared over the obstacle with ease, landing with a bump on the other side. The young rider rocked forward in the saddle and bounced to one side, but retained his seat on his mount.

  “Very good!” cried Toli. “Excellent! That is the way! Come here now and rest a little.” He beamed at his charge, nodding well-earned approval.

  “Just once more, Toli. Please? I want to remember what it feels like.” He turned the horse again and started for the log.

  Toli reined up and dismounted, watching the Prince carefully. This time as the boy’s horse approached the obstacle, the animal hesitated, unsure of his rider’s command. He jumped awkwardly and late, throwing himself over. Prince Gerin slipped sideways in the saddle and hung on, trying desperately to stop the horse. But he could not; his grip failed, and he fell to the ground with a thud. The brown pony jogged on riderless.

  “Ooof!” The Prince rolled heels over head on the soft turf.

  Toli rushed to him. “Are you hurt?” He picked up the boy and brushed him off. There was mud on his chin and elbows.

  “No-it is not the first time I have fallen. That, at least, I seem to have the knack of.”

  “I am sorry it will not be the last time, either,” laughed Toli. “But I must keep you in one piece, or your father will have my head!”

  The Prince looked up at his instructor, frowning, his smooth brow knitting in consternation. “Will I ever get it right?”

  “Of course, in time-”

  “But the hunt is less than a fortnight away!”

  “Do not worry, young master. You are making good progress. You shall ride with the hunt, I promise. And your father will have his surprise. All in good time. But first you must learn not to hesitate when you approach a jump. It confuses your mount, and he will jump badly.”

  “May I try it again?”

  “We should be getting back. I’ve duties to attend to.”

  “Please, Toli. Just once more. I would not like to end the day’s practice with a fall.”

  “Well said. One more jump, and then we race for home.”

  The Prince dashed to his mount, Tarky, who had stopped to nibble the grass at the end of the path. Toli went back to Riv and remounted. “Think about what you are doing, young sir!” called Toli. “Concentrate!”

  The boy climbed into his saddle, a look of dire determination on his face. He eyed the obstacle ahead, gauging the distance, then snapped the reins and spurred the horse ahead.

  Away they galloped down the path. In a twinkling they were hurtling toward the log. Prince Gerin leaned low in the saddle, lifted his hands, and the horse flew up and over the log as graceful and light as a deer. The Prince pulled the reins and with a whoop of triumph wheeled the pony around and broke for the far trees across the meadow.

  “Well done, Prince Gerin!” shouted Toli. “Well done!” Then he, too, spurred his mount for the trees and beyond them to the road leading back to Askelon.

  The two reached the road side by side and raced laughing all the way to the castle. The sun was high in the clear blue sky, and both felt the joy of life running strong in them.

  Durwin’s worktable was stacked high with dusty scrolls and hide-bound volumes. He sat hunched over the table on a high stool, chin in hand, mumbling to himself as he read. His hair was long and almost completely white now, but his eyes were quick as ever and his limbs sound. He appeared a man half his natural age.

  Abruptly he raised his head and sniffed the air. “Ah!” he cried, jumping up. He dashed at once to a small brazier where a black iron pot was bubbling away on the hot coals. It had boiled over, and black smoke rolled toward the rafters. He picked up a long wooden spoon nearby and was stirring the pot when a voice called out from the doorway.

  “Phew! Good hermit, what is that prodigious stench? It is most foul!”

  Durwin glanced up to see the Queen Dowa
ger standing in his wide doorway watching him, her nose crinkled in frank disgust.

  “Alinea! What!-you do not care for my poultice? ‘Tis a powerful curative for aches of the joints.”

  “It is to be wondered whether the aches would not be more enjoyable.”

  “My patients, I assure you, do not mind its aromatic qualities.”

  “Your patients?”

  “I call them patients, my Lady. This is for Toli.”

  “Certainly Toli has no need of this.”

  “His horses, madam. I am making it for his horses, although it would not hurt the rider in any case, if need were great.”

  “And nose were strong!” she said, laughing. “But mine is not. Come away from your labors a little, hermit. I would have someone to walk with in the garden.”

  Durwin smiled and bowed. “I would be delighted. Just the thing. I have been too long among these vapors, or I would have thought of it myself.”

  They went out together, through the castle, past the Dragon King’s Great Hall, and out onto the garden steps. “See how brightly the sun shines,” said Alinea, “and how fragrant the flowers.”

  They walked down the steps and into the garden amidst the fragrant offerings of roses of all kinds. The spring flowers were gone, but the blooms of summer were just opening and everywhere one looked the eye was filled with color.

  “Ah! It is peace itself to be here,” sighed Durwin. He turned to regard his companion. The years had been kind to her. Her hair was long-braided, gathered, and bound in a snood. There was much silver now among the auburn tresses, and lines had formed around her eyes and lovely lips. But her eyes were still as green as forest pools, and her voice held the timbre of laughing water.

  Yes, thought Durwin, the years have been good to us all. I would not trade them for any others. The God Most High is good; he has poured out a blessing on the land. We have much to be thankful for.

  “What are you thinking, my friend?” Alinea asked softly. “That these have been happy years, my Queen, and full. I am content.” He paused, and his voice struck a faraway note. “Though I lay down to die tomorrow, I would have no regrets. None at all.”

  “And I might say the same,” replied Alinea. “But come, let us not speak further of dying. That will take care of itself.”

  “So it is! Aye, so it is.” Durwin nodded slowly. Brightening he said, “Then tell me, what news have you? I heard that a messenger arrived early this morning. He brought good tidings?”

  “Yes! Yes, I was going to tell you. He brought word from Hinsenby-”

  “Hinsenby? From Theido?”

  “From Lady Esme. She is on her way here even now. She will arrive before dusk this evening. The day is good for traveling.”

  “Ah, Lady Esme. Her I have not seen for many years, it seems.”

  “She has been missed within these walls. And, sad to tell, no one felt her absence as keenly as Lady Esme herself.”

  “Yes, an awful business. Very sad. It bears remembering that there are some among us whose lives may not be as free of regret as our own. I am certain she would have chosen differently if she had known.”

  Alinea was silent for some time. They paced the garden paths, each feeling the warmth of the day and of companionship from the other. “I wonder if any of us would choose as we do, if we knew the future.”

  “Perhaps not. But it is a blessing nonetheless. The burdens of the day weigh heavy enough; we could not bear tomorrow’s as well”

  “Of course. How wise you are, hermit. Yes, it will be good to see Esme once more. Perhaps we may help heal old wounds.”

  Just then they heard the happy twitter of childish voices and looked up to see Princess Brianna and Princess Elena running toward them as fast as their spindly little legs would carry them. Behind them Bria walked at a more leisurely pace.

  “Grandmother! Oh, Grandmother!” called the little girls. “We have a secret! A very great secret!”

  “A secret? Whatever could it be?”

  “You must guess it, Grandmother!” shouted Brianna.

  “Yes, guess! Guess!” shouted Elena.

  Alinea placed her hands together and raised them to her lips. “Let me see,” she said, her eyes shining at the sight of her beautiful grandchildren. “Are you going on a trip?”

  Both little heads wagged from side to side, their braids flying.

  “No?” continued their grandmother. “Then you have learned a new game and have come to show us!”

  “That’s not it!” they cried, and burst into giggles. “Lady Esme is coming! She’ll be here tonight!” Both girls began hopping up and down.

  “That is good news!” said Alinea.

  “Did you hear, Durwin?” they shouted. “She’ll be here tonight.” Then they looked at each other as a new and better thought occurred to them. “Maybe she’ll bring us presents!” said Brianna.

  “Yes, presents!”

  They clapped their hands and then darted away among the rose bushes toward the fountain.

  “Very like hummingbirds,” mused Durwin.

  “There you are, Mother,” said Bria as she came to stand with them. “I see they have told you their secret.”

  “Yes, dear. How happy you must be.”

  “I am almost as excited as they are-if that were possible!” she replied and laughed, her eyes following the girls as they ran. “Good day, Durwin. I am glad to see Mother has dragged you from your noisome den. I was beginning to wonder whether you would ever come out.”

  “Oh, in time, in time. But once this old head gets hold of an idea, it will not let it go.” He smiled broadly. “That is why I have you two to look after me. I know you will not allow me to remain too long alone. I thank you for that.”

  “There is another who I wish were as easily persuaded,” said Bria.

  “Quentin?”

  Bria smiled a little sadly and nodded. “Oh, I know he is very busy now. He is preoccupied with his temple. But he is gone from morning until night nearly every day, closeted with his builders and architects. He never stops. I rarely see him anymore.”

  Alinea looked longingly at her daughter. “With a King it is ever so. You must remember, my love, that he does not belong to himself, or even his family. He belongs to the kingdom, to the people. Quentin carries a very great burden in this temple. Old ways die hard, and he seeks to fulfill the god’s leading.”

  Bria hung her head. “I know I should be more patient. But he has become a stranger in his own house.”

  “Quentin is called to high deeds. Through him great things will be accomplished.”

  “So it is,” said Durwin. “But my Lady Bria speaks truth. He also must look to the nurturing of his home. King or no, that is a man’s first responsibility. The Most High is happy in small deeds, as well as large. I often think he must care less for temples than for the simple strength of a family.” He paused and looked at Bria. “I will speak to him if you wish.”

  “Thank you, but no. I will wait. The temple is important-I know that. Perhaps when it is finished we will once again find time for ourselves. Until then I shall wait.” She smiled prettily and glanced at her mother. “The women in our family have had long experience with waiting. We are very good at it.”

  FOUR

  UNLIKE THE priests he led, High Priest Pluell lived in sumptuous splendor, with the richest appointments. While the lower priests’ cells were spare, devoid of all objects and ornamentation, except those few articles necessary to a minimum of comfort-a bed with straw-filled mattress, a stool, a rough table, a wooden bowl, a tallow candle-the High Priest’s apartment was hung with heavy tapestries, and carven chairs stood around a great table spread with expensive cloth and laid with fine silver. From golden candle holders burned candles made with perfumed beeswax. His bed was high and curtained, the mattress stuffed with eider down.

  This, he told himself, was no more than his due-the perquisites of his position, the rewards of his rank.

  High Priest Pluell and his vis
itor had been holding conference for many hours. The High Priest stared ahead dully, his eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep, a deep frown cut over his arrogant features.

  Old Nimrood watched him carefully from his seat, with gnarled hands folded beneath his sharp chin. He seemed the picture of a shrewd merchant who has just struck an extremely fortuitous bargain. The faint wisp of a smile curled his thin, bloodless lips.

  “Then it is agreed?” asked Nimrood, breaking the silence at last.

  Pluell raised his head slowly, a sneer twisting his mouth.

  “What other choice do I have? Yes! It is agreed. I will do as you say.”

  “See that you do and all will be well. You will save the temple; and what is more, you will hold the power of the kingdom. The realm will be yours and the King your servant. Think of it!”

  “It is risky. I am not fond of taking chances.”

  “Without risk there is no gain, my friend. And as you yourself have said, you have no choice. I tell you, this upstart King means to pull down the High Temple and drive out the priests. With every passing day the King’s Temple grows; when it is done, yours will be destroyed.”

  “Still, would he dare? It would inflame the people against him. I would see to that.”

  “He dares all things in the name of this god of his. He must be dealt with at once. Too long have you hidden beneath your robes of office. Wait any longer and it will be too late.”

  “Yes, yes. So you say.” Pluell looked at his guest sharply. “I do not like this King at all, and I do not fear him. The sanctity and authority of the High Temple must be preserved. When and where do we begin?”