The sword and the flame dk-3

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  Esme sniffed miserably. Bria put her arms around her and drew her close. “You have suffered much, Esme. And yet in all your pain you never allowed yourself to cry out.” To Esme’s questioning glance she replied, “Chloe told me. But why? I would rather hear it from you.”

  Esme gazed at her hands folded on her knees. “I have made such a ruin of my life, Bria. How can you still call me friend?” She placed her hand on Bria’s. “But you always were so much more kind than I.”

  “Nonsense!”

  “No, it is true.”

  Bria pulled Esme more tightly to her, and both women fell silent. When she turned to her friend once more, she found Esme sound asleep. The Queen drew a comforter over her and left the room quietly. At the door she paused and looked back. “There is healing here, Esme. Stay with us and let it begin.”

  Quentin was sitting at his great table frowning over sketches of his temple’s design. The table bore the full weight of a score of drawings, dozens of workmen’s plans, countless lists and inventories of building materials, several clay and stone models of the finished structure, a large plumb bob and line, three mason’s levels, a leather parchment case, and a stone from the site which acted as a paperweight.

  “You are tired, my lord,” said Bria, coming up behind him. She rested her hands on his shoulders and lightly rubbed his neck. “You stare witless at the scratchings before you.”

  The King raised his face from the page before him and pressed his fists against his eyes. “You are right, my love. Yes, I am tired. There is much to do-”

  “Nothing that will not wait until tomorrow. Come to bed.”

  Quentin put his hands flat on the table and pushed the sketches from him as he stood. He gazed at his wife and smiled gently, then asked, “Is all well with our guest?”

  “Her travels have worn her down, as may be expected. But I think she suffers still from the memory of a loveless marriage, and that is the pain she bears.”

  “He has been dead two years.”

  Bria nodded. “Yes, but deep wounds heal slowly. We do not know how cruelly treated she was.”

  “She will not talk to you?”

  “She speaks of it to no one. But it is plain to see that all is not well. There are many who do not share the joy we know, and Esme is one of those who have traveled a most difficult road.”

  “We will hear of it in time, I imagine. When she is ready, she will tell us.” Quentin yawned and stretched, and together the King and Queen went in to their bedchamber.

  Quentin lay for a long time staring into the blackness of the darkened room, thinking about the events of the day past and those of the day to come. He fell asleep with a vision of the completed temple filling his eyes, and dreamed of the day when he would lead his countrymen into the temple to worship the Most High on its day of consecration.

  SIX

  THE DAY of the King’s Hunt dawned with melancholy reluctance; low dreary clouds spread over the Plain of Askelon and gray mists draped the treetops. Those camped abroad and those boarded in the town and in the castle feared rain would spoil the day. But as a wan yellow sun climbed higher into the great vault of the heavens, it gathered strength, flared brighter; its white-hot rays burned away the clouds and warmed the air. Travelers and townspeople streamed into the streets and began the trek to the field. Those still abed in Castle Askelon awakened and rushed to ready themselves for the day’s festivities. Lords and their ladies-from as far away as Endonny and Woodsend, and all places in between-dressed in their finest. Knights donned riding clothes of leather and saw to the grooming of their horses, plaiting tail and mane with ribbons of gold and silver entwined with bells, or dressing their steeds in brightly colored caparisons: red and blue, gold and green, violet and yellow.

  And everywhere, from the chamber of the King to the tents on Askelon Plain, excitement simmered beneath the surface, breaking out in laughter and song and impromptu games. Wagons and hand carts emerged from the castle keeps loaded down with foodstuffs and supplies for the makeshift kitchens arranged on the field under bright yellow canopies.

  Everywhere around the sporting field colorful pavilions of red and silver, bearing the royal device-the red writhing dragon-began filling. Smoke from cooking fires drifted lazily into the windless sky in silken threads. It appeared to anyone observing from the battlements of Askelon Castle that a bold, colorful army had encamped round about, an army whose numbers swelled by degrees ever greater as more and more people made their way to the field.

  “Father! Father, come quickly! Look! Oh, look!” cried the children. They ran and seized Quentin’s hands and pulled him out onto the bartizan outside their rooms. “See! The hunt is almost ready! Look at all the people! Oh, I have never seen so many!” they cried.

  “Can we play in the games, Father?” asked Princess Brianna. “Of course,” said Quentin. “There will be games for you.” He reached out and patted her head.

  “And watch the circus?” added Princess Elena. “Yes! Yes!” laughed Quentin.

  Young Prince Gerin did not ask a favor, considering himself too big for such childish pleasures. He looked out on the scene below and beamed, his face flushed with excitement.

  “And what about you, my son? What will you do today?” Prince Gerin turned and smiled mysteriously. “I will show you-but not now. It is a secret! A surprise!”

  “Very well,” said Quentin. “If I must wait, I must. But tell me soon, for I do not think I can endure the suspense for long!” He laughed again and pulled the youngster to him, rubbing his slim shoulders affectionately.

  “There you are!” said Bria, stepping out onto the bartizan. “The sooner we have our breakfast, the sooner we will join the others and the festival can begin!”

  The Princesses frowned disapprovingly. Prince Gerin whirled away and dashed for the door. “I cannot eat now!” he called. “I must find Toli!” He was gone before his mother could protest

  “Breakfast is an unwanted intrusion today,” said Quentin. “Besides, there will be time enough and food enough for eating at the field. If any go away hungry this day, it is their own fault and no one else’s.”

  Bria sighed and herded the girls before her, and they went down to eat a hasty meal before departing for the hunt.

  For many days the castle had been bustling with activity. There was food and drink to organize, folded pavilions to haul from storage, and the field to prepare. Minstrels and circus performers, some with trained dogs and bears, had begun arriving in the town. Merchants readied wares which they would offer to the crowds; food vendors prepared their special delicacies.

  Toli and Prince Gerin had arranged their surprise in their own way, practicing the more difficult jumps time and again. The Prince had, after many painful tumbles, learned to jump with ease, handling his horse with an expert hand at last.

  “Very good! Excellent!” called Toli that final day. “You are ready for the hunt, young master. I have taught you all I can!”

  “Do you really think so, Toli?”

  Toli nodded solemnly. “A finer rider in this realm would be difficult to find. You are ready. Just remember everything we have practiced and you will ride with the best.”

  “Truly?”

  “Truly.”

  “Father will be so surprised!” the Prince shouted. “You will not tell him-”

  “Never fear-I want him to be surprised, too.”

  Those last days had been hard ones for the Prince, trying desperately to keep his secret. It burned inside him, threatening to leap to his tongue each time he opened his mouth. But somehow he had managed; the secret was safe.

  Now, as he dashed to the stables to find Toli and to see to his horse, he ran with the speed of his own racing heart. He found Toli saddling his mount for him, examining each tack item as he placed it on the horse. The Prince slowed as he came up; Tarky nickered softly as the boy reached out and patted the sleek jaw.

  “You will ride beside me, won’t you, Toli?”

  “Certa
inly. I shall be right beside you all the way. How else am I to keep up?”

  “Do you think we might find a trophy?”

  “We have as good a chance as any, I’ll warrant. And better than some. We just might find a trophy.”

  The hunters were allowed to hunt for game, but as an added reward there were prizes hidden throughout the forest: trophies of gold and silver, cups and bowl, and other objects of value. This heightened the competition and gave extra delight to the sport. Many of the hunters did not even carry weapons, preferring instead to concentrate solely on finding the valuable trinkets. This was what Prince Gerin had in mind as well; he wanted to find a trophy for his father. That would complete the surprise.

  When all was ready the Prince hoisted himself into his saddle, heart thumping in his chest. Together Toli and Gerin rode to join the others at the gates.

  “Very well,” spat Nimrood from the shadows. “You know what to do. You have had a good look at him. There must be no mistakes.”

  The six men gathered around him nodded silently. There would be no mistakes because they had come to fear Nimrood greatly and would not risk his disappointment, though none of them had much stomach for what was about to take place.

  “Then disperse carefully. I will await you here. Remember the signal, and look sharp! Yes, my lads, look sharp! I do not need to remind you that this is a most dangerous game we are playing. Most dangerous,” he hissed, his eyes darting from one man to the next. “Now go. And be ready!”

  The six men, the best chosen from among the order of temple guards, faded silently away, their dark clothing melding with the green leaves and deep shadows of Pelgrin Forest.

  Nimrood’s cruel features creased into a malicious grin. “My revenge,” he whispered throatily to himself. “Now it begins. At long last, it begins.”

  SEVEN

  THE INNER ward yard bustled with activity as the King assembled his family and friends. Bria and the Princesses would ride to the field in a gaily festooned coach. Quentin and his son would lead the procession on horseback, followed by Durwin and Toli and as many of the noble visitors as had not already left for the field. Esme, however, would not be among them.

  When all was ready, the armorer came hurrying up with two squires at either elbow. One lad carried the King’s shield, burnished bright as a mirror; the other carried, on a long satin pillow, the King’s sword, Zhaligkeer, the Shining One.

  The armorer knelt and offered the King his weapons. Quentin nodded, and the squires helped their master fasten the great sword in place and then handed up the shield, which the King slung over his shoulder.

  Word of the shining sword had long ago spread far and wide throughout the land. There was not a peasant anywhere who had not heard of its forging in the lost mountain mines of the Ariga out of the fabled glowing ore, lanthanil. Far beyond the borders of Mensandor tales of the Shining One were told, and of the mighty Priest King who had come to the throne by a strange and wonderful enchantment. Those who looked upon him now believed those stories more fervently than ever, because he appeared so strong and fearless.

  Quentin mounted Blazer and the milk-white stallion danced sideways, anxious to be off. He raised a gloved hand, the inner ward gates were opened wide, and the parade began. They passed into the outer ward and then through the gatehouse, over the huge drawbridge and down the ramp into the city. And though many townspeople had already left for the festival site, there were still enough to line the streets to wave and cheer and welcome their King. The happy people fell into place behind the procession as it passed, and all made their way to the field.

  Young Gerin, his heart fluttering within him like a captive bird, gawked openly at all around him, feeling proud and important. This day the hunt wore a different look; nothing appeared the same as he remembered it. All had changed, becoming more colorful, more exciting, more thrilling than ever before. For this day he would ride with the hunt!

  He swiveled in his saddle and threw a conspiratorial glance back at Toli, who rode behind him. Toli was talking to Durwin, but saw the look and answered it with a wink.

  Gerin turned his eyes to the sights around him. Jugglers tossed knives and hoops high into the air and caught them deftly; a man with a trained bear on a chain made it stand on its head; acrobats tumbled and threw one another spinning into the air; some boys had made a pair of stilts from the limbs of trees and were trying to master the art of walking on them; vendors cried over the shouts and laughter, hawking their trinkets: fancy ribbons, jewelry, and tiny lacquered boxes.

  The world was alive with sound and color. Here and there music swelled as minstrels gathered small audiences to hear their newest songs; horses cantered and neighed, tossing their heads and setting their bells ringing; children ran laughing, their bare feet skipping over the grass.

  The parade entered the field itself, and Gerin turned his eyes to the competition. Ranged around the long rectangle of the field were tents and small pavilions, each with a standard before the entrance bearing the banner of the lord or knight within. Some of the riders were outside their tents, seeing to the last-minute details of tack or weapons. Hunting hounds lay on the grass waiting for the chase to begin, or strained at their leashes, yapping eagerly at one another as they sensed the moment of their release drawing near.

  Gerin gazed among the pavilions, reading the devices and looking for those that he knew. There was the green oak on a barred field of azure and gold-that was Sir Grenfell. The boar and spear on scarlet belonged to Lord Bossit; and the silver lance and shield on checkered black and white was the blazon of Sir Hedric of Bellavee. There were also Benniot’s silver and blue double eagle, Rudd’s red ox on sable, and Fincher’s gauntlet clutching white thunderbolts.

  There were more that he did not know-harts and hounds, mailed fists and morions, poniards and preying birds-but he did not see the two he hoped most to see: the black hawk on crimson, and the gray gauntlet clutching crossed mace and flail.

  “Where is Theido, father? And Ronsard? I do not see them,” the Prince said, craning his neck around the perimeter of the field.

  “They will be here before the hunt is through. Theido sent word that he will arrive tomorrow, and Ronsard likewise. They will not miss the hunt. Do not worry; your friends will come.”

  They arrived at the King’s pavilion and dismounted. The ascending rows of banks were already filled to overflowing, and more people were crowding in. In the very front row, however, were chairs set up behind a banister for the royal family and their entourage. The Queen took her place, and the Princesses beside her, smiling and waving to all who greeted her. The King, instantly surrounded by well-wishers, slowly made his way to his chair where he remained standing and signaled the herald.

  A long clear blast of the trumpet summoned the riders, who began filing onto the field, arranging themselves in ranks before the King’s pavilion. When all were ready, the King nodded to a man with a wide leather baldric from which dangled a hunting horn.

  The man was the Marshal of the Hunt; he led his bay horse to the front of the assembled ranks and in a loud voice began reciting the rules of conduct. When he was finished, Quentin looked over the crowd and shouted, “Do you one and all pledge your oath to abide the laws of the King’s Hunt?”

  “We so pledge!” the riders shouted as one.

  “Well said!” cried Quentin. “Let the hunt begin!”

  A great hurrah went up from the hunters, and all the spectators gathered around the field. The marshal raised the horn to his lips, but before he could sound the note someone called out, “We would have our King lead us!”

  “The King!” someone else shouted. “Yes! The King!” the rest joined in. “We want King Quentin. The King must lead the hunt!”

  Quentin smiled and glanced at his Queen. “Oh, you must go, Father! You must!” cried Princess Brianna and Princess Elena.

  “Yes,” agreed Bria. “Lead them, my lord.”

  “Very well,” said Quentin. “I will ride!” H
e made to leave the pavilion and mount Blazer. Another hurrah went up from the throng.

  “The King will ride!” they shouted. Actually Quentin rode every year, but it was always custom that the contestants ask him to ride and offer him the lead. Usually he rode only for a short while and then returned to officiate over the other games.

  “Are you coming, Durwin?” Quentin asked as he descended from the pavilion.

  “I am getting too old for breaking my neck on horseback. Leave it to the younger men. I shall wait here for your return.”

  “Durwin!” the crowd called. “Let Durwin ride with us! Durwin! Durwin!” The call became a chant.

  “You see, they want you, Durwin. You would disappoint them?”

  “Very well, I will ride. Lead on.” He followed Quentin down to the field.

  As they were mounted and making ready to gallop off, Quentin looked to his side and saw his son beaming at him, his young face shining with anticipation. “What is this?”

  “I am riding, too, Father. That is your surprise!”

  Before Quentin could speak, Toli, sitting next to the Prince, said, “We have been practicing for weeks, my lord. Your son has become a fine horseman.”

  “Is it true?” He stared at his son.

  The boy burst out laughing. “If you could see the bruises I have endured, you would know the truth of it!”

  Quentin did not know what to say. He glanced to Bria, who was attending the scene from her seat with a worried look on her face. Quentin scratched his jaw and seemed about to overrule the enterprise. He looked to Toli “Do you think it wise?” Prince Gerin bit his lip.

  “Sire, I would not allow it if I thought he would be in danger. He can handle himself and his mount, never fear. And I will ride with him just to make sure. I will not allow him away from me for an instant