The sword and the flame dk-3

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  FORTY

  THEIDO WAS the first to react to the news. “You found the King’s sword?”

  Pym nodded solemnly; Renny nodded, too, and Tip wagged her tail. “We ‘uns found it in the road days ago now…” He lapsed into silence remembering what else they had found.

  “Next to the body of a man-isn’t that right?” prompted Ronsard.

  Pym nodded slowly and thrust his hands out. “But we ‘uns had nothing to do with that! No, sir. Nivver lifted hand against any man me whole life long. No, nivver did.”

  “We believe you, tinker,” said Theido. “What you have told us fits with what we already know. What did you do with the sword when you found it?”

  “Hid it, sir. We ‘uns hid it in a hollow tree, we did. A hazelnut tree in the forest. But we ‘uns did not as much as know it were the King’s sword-not at first.”

  “But when you found out, you went back for it. Is that right?” Ronsard had formed a picture in his mind about what must have happened-the tinker coming upon the sword in the road, frightened, hiding the weapon and coming to town, hearing the talk, and determining to bring back the sword. “You intended giving it back to the King?”

  “Yes, sir, very much. That’s what we’uns planned all along-well, maybe not at first. Didn’t know it was the King’s sword at first. No, didn’t know that.”

  “Who took it from you?” asked Theido. “You mentioned highwaymen.”

  “Six of them there were. Two passed while we ‘uns rested aside of the road. Then three more-nivver paid me no mind-but the last one nearly knocked me down in the road, he did-came a’charging along that way. We ‘uns nivver seen him ‘til he pitched to a halt. Then ‘twas he saw the sword and took it. I hanged on as mighty as I could, but he caught me a blow or two on the jaw.” Pym rubbed the swollen bruise gingerly. “This ‘un here”-he indicated Renny-“saved old Pym’s hide, he did. He rescued me, and him just a lad-but with spunk, yes sir! Lots o’ spunk has he. Yes, and he flew into them and sent them slinking away like a pack of mangy curs!”

  Ronsard regarded the boy closely. “Is this true, young master? You defended the tinker here from the brigands?”

  Renny nodded, too overwhelmed to speak.

  “Brave lad,” remarked Theido. “Well done. Not many would take on six armed men alone and with no weapons. What made you do it?”

  Renny opened his mouth, and the words tumbled out. “I’m going to be a knight, sir. Knights are brave and help those as needs help.”

  “Indeed!” Ronsard agreed. “But were you not afraid?”

  “No, sir. Not until Pym told me who they were.”

  “Oh? You know who they were, Pym?” Theido leaned forward.

  “We’uns heard a name-the one as took the sword. It was-”

  “Let me guess,” put in Ronsard. “Ameronis?”

  “The very one!” cried Pym. “That’s the very one. And a mean one he is, sir. Mean as the night is long. Yes, he is.”

  “I thought so!” said Ronsard. “Well, here is our battle, already drawn for us. There can be no doubt where the rook has taken his prize.”

  Theido pulled his chin and gazed out across the yard. “To that snuggery of his on the Sipleth.” He turned to Ronsard. “That is settled, then; we prepare not for a search but a siege!”

  After receiving the letter of ransom, Quentin had taken to his bed in despair; he had not moved all day. Paralyzed by a crippling helplessness, he lay as one stricken with the disease which turns the limbs to stone. The letter had been his son’s death foretold, for he no longer had the Shining One to give the kidnappers, and not enough time to find it in any event.

  Now, because of his transgression, because of his striking down the wretch in the road, he would lose his son and heir, and his throne as well. But what did that matter? He had already lost his truest friends: Durwin dead, Toli driven away and captured; even his Queen left him alone in his hour of greatest torment. But beyond all this, the pain that cut him deepest was the knowledge that the Most High had removed his hand from him and was now pouring out a heavy judgment upon him.

  The judgment was more than he could bear.

  There came a rap on his chamber door, and though Quentin did not move or attend the sound in any way, the door swung open. A tall, lanky figure entered the darkened room and came to stand beside the bed.

  “Sire,” said Theido, “all is in readiness.”

  The King did not answer.

  Theido stood looking sadly down on his friend for a moment, then said, “We are waiting for you to lead us.” He had been about to say that they were leaving now, but Quentin’s condition shocked him and he thought to try to rouse the King. For an instant he thought the ploy might work.

  Quentin turned his head on his pillow; his eyes focused on Theido’s face. “They are going to kill my son,” he said softly, “and I am to blame.”

  “Nay, Sire. I have come with news: the sword has been found. We go now to claim it.”

  “Zhaligkeer found?”

  “Lord Ameronis has stolen it from a tinker who found it in the road the day of Prince Gerin’s abduction.”

  “Then he has won. He will never give it up.”

  “Not without a fight, no. But we mean to give him a fight the likes of which he has never seen. In the end he will give the Shining One back, and gladly. That is why you must ride with us.”

  “There is no time, Theido. No time. Already it is too late.”

  “It is not too late, lord. But it will be if you delay.”

  “Go, then, and see what can be done.”

  Theido was about to agree, hesitated, and instead replied, “I will not give the order, Sire. That you must do. And you must ride at the head of your troops if we are to show Ameronis and his friends that we will brook no treason in this realm.”

  Again Quentin lay silent. Theido could not tell if his words were finding their mark or if his listener was so far given to his despair that nothing could reach him. The knight said a silent prayer to the Most High to move the King once more to action. “Defend your throne, my lord,” Theido said. “Come. Ride with us. Lead us.”

  Quentin sighed and passed a hand before his eyes. “No, I am no King. Leave me.”

  “Who will lead the troops if you will not?”

  “You lead them.”

  “I will not.”

  “Ronsard, then. Anyone. I do not care.”

  Theido knew he was beaten then, turned away, and walked to the door. With his hand on the latch he paused and said, “There are those who will give their lives for you and your throne. And many more will brave any danger in service to you. Durwin did, and Toli-and others you know nothing of. Will you not lift a hand to save yourself?” With that he closed the door.

  The King heard his footsteps diminishing in the corridor, and lay staring up into the darkness of his blackened room. He did not move.

  “Well?” Ronsard asked, already guessing the answer, for it was written in the gray, weary lines of his friend’s face.

  “He will not ride. I fear we have lost our King even before a single blow has been delivered.”

  “If our King gives himself over to defeat, then our kingdom is in disarray. The jackals will tear it to pieces.”

  Theido drew a deep breath. “That, at least, we can hold off for a little longer. We will ride to Ameron-on-Sipleth and do what we can.” He cast an eye skyward. “If we ride all night we can be there by morning.”

  As twilight tinted the bowl of heaven the color of dark wine, the Dragon King’s army left Askelon. In all the times of leaving, in all the wars when Mensandor’s men-at-arms had answered the call and marched forth into battle, in all the frightful days when foe threatened and peace would be won only by lance and sword, there had never been a more silent departure.

  The troops filed through the outer ward and gatehouse, over the immense drawbridge spanning the dry moat, and down the long ramp to wend through the streets of the city. The knights came first on horseback,
their armor bundled beneath netting behind the saddles of their squires. The footmen were next, marching together in long ranks, not speaking-for word had spread through the file that the Dragon King had not the heart to lead his men. After the footmen came the heavy wagons loaded with provisions and weapons for the footmen and knights; smiths’ and surgeons’ wains with supplies’ and tools for mending broken men and their armaments formed the rear of the train.

  The silent army passed through the streets of the city like a ghostly phalanx whispering off to some forgotten battle on the mists of time. No one came out to mark their passing; no citizen cheered their march. The streets remained empty of all but a few mongrel dogs, hungry-looking and scabby, who ran yapping at the horses’ hoofs.

  At the head of the troops rode Ronsard and Theido side by side, upright in the saddle, eyes ahead. They did not speak, but wrapped themselves in their own thoughts like cloaks against the night. And though the night was warm, there was an atmosphere of melancholy and futility that chilled the air. All felt it who followed the banner of the Dragon King this night.

  For, without the enemy so much as lifting blade against the throne, Mensandor had lost her King.

  FORTY-ONE

  ELDER JOLLEN sat stroking his beard in the firelight, staring into the glowing embers on the hearth; next to him sat his wife, Morwenna, and Alinea beside her. Bria and Esme, opposite the esteemed elder, watched him carefully, waiting for what he would say. Shadows flickered on the walls, and in one corner a cricket chirped its nightsong. Finally, his chest rising as he drew air deep into his lungs, he looked up and said, “Yes, I agree. You must go back at once. The dream, as Biorkis suggests, has been given as a warning for you to return-or a sign that you must be present to witness the event which is foretold and will take place soon. Either way you must go.”

  “Thank you, Elder Jollen. Your words make my heart rest easier in its decision,” Bria answered.

  “I could discuss this with the other elders if you like, but I have no doubt that they will say what I have already said. Yes, go. I know that you have hardly had time to rest from your journey and now must leave, but we will pray that the god will give you strength for your travels.”

  “I hate the thought of leaving,” said Esme. “In so short a time I have come to feel very comfortable here-almost as if I belong here.”

  Jollen looked at her, nodding to himself as if he could see something in that young woman that no one else could. “Perhaps the god is speaking to you, Esme. It may be that he has a place for you here among us. In any event, you will always be welcome in Dekra. Return when you may, and stay as long as you care to; allow your heart to find itself again.”

  The elder’s last words surprised Esme. “Did Bria tell you about my… my troubles?”

  Jollen’s smile was gentle. “No, my Lady. I did not need words to tell me that you have been a party to much pain and sadness of late. From the moment you came through the gate I saw much in you of the little child lost”

  Esme lowered her eyes and stared at her hands in her lap. “It is so apparent, then?”

  “No!” replied Bria.

  “No, no-perhaps not to everyone,” admitted Elder Jollen. “But it is part of my gift that I see most clearly the shape of the inner soul. I do not speak to shame you, Esme. Only to tell you that we know of your hurts and have been praying for you since you entered here.”

  “I thank you for your prayers. And I have felt more at peace here than at any time since…” Her voice faltered and she paused, letting her words trail off.

  Morwenna rose and put an arm around her. “Come back when your work is done, and stay with us. It would be an honor to have you here.”

  “My work?” Esme looked around at the group. “What do you mean by ‘my work’?”

  “Of us all, Esme,” replied Alinea, “you are the one who had the vision; you are the one to whom the Most High has spoken.”

  “I have some part to play in this?”

  Elder Jollen chuckled lightly. “We all do, to be sure. But yours is a special part. Whist Orren has revealed to you alone something of his plan. The Most High has his hand on you, Esme.”

  They talked a little more then, about commonplace things and the preparations that had been made for their departure early the next morning. But nothing more was said of Esme’s dream or its possible significance, though all knew that some word of power had been spoken among them and that it would result in some great deed as yet unforeseen, and that this was what sent the women hurrying off once more. When they rose reluctantly to go to their beds, Morwenna led them to the door, saying, “I will come to bring you breakfast and to see you away in the morning.”

  “Please do not bother,” said the Queen. “You have all done so much for us already.”

  “It is no trouble.” Morwenna dismissed Bria’s comment with a whisk of her hand. “I only regret that I have not had the pleasure of spending more time with your little ones. They are charming! You must bring them back soon, and Quentin too. He has been too long away.”

  “He would agree with you, I know.” Bria took Morwenna’s hands as Jollen came up to stand behind his wife. “Pray for him. Please… pray for him, and for my son.”

  “You may trust in it that we will,” answered Jollen. “Our prayers have not ceased since you came to us. Yes, until we hear that all is well with you once more we will remain in prayer.” He paused and regarded the women with a long, appraising gaze. “But be encouraged,” he said abruptly. “Your task here, the reason for your coming, has been fulfilled, and the Most High is pleased to give you his blessing. You have been faithful to your hearts, and even now the things which he has promised are coming to pass. Go, so that you may witness them grow, know that he is ever true to those who follow him.”

  Silently the visitors embraced their hosts and stepped from the warm, firelit room into the cool summer night ablaze with myriad stars. They hastened to their beds, too full of private thoughts to speak, but feeling each one closer to the other, conjoined with a strength of love and purpose that held them secure. And though they might be forced to ride through the darkness of evil days ahead, none doubted the light which had been promised at their destination.

  “Toli? Are you asleep?” asked Prince Gerin. The boy slid closer to the man’s huddled form beside him.

  “No,” replied Toli, rolling over. “What is it?”

  “I heard something; someone is coming.”

  “I heard it as well. It is the guard again, making sure we are still here and have not vanished through the cracks in the wall.”

  “They have been watching us closely this day, and the last-closer than before. Why?”

  “They have sprung the trap, I believe. They do not want anything to happen to us until they know if they have caught anything or not.”

  “But what do they want?”

  “Revenge. Nimrood tried to steal the throne once before, and-”

  Before Toli could finish, there came a scrape at the door and its crack illuminated the room. Toli rolled to his feet. “What is it now?” he asked as the visitor entered the cell, asked as the visitor entered the cell.

  “Resting comfortably, my pets?”

  “Nimrood!” said Toli darkly. “So you have slithered in to taunt your prisoners?”

  “Oh, my, no! I have come to tell you just how high a price I have set on your worthless heads. The ransom letter has been sent and received. The King has no choice but to comply.”

  “What have you done, snake?”

  “Merely suggested that I would be willing to free my captives in exchange for a certain object of value to the King.” Nimrood paused and laughed wickedly, “Ha! An object soon to be of little value to the King!”

  “What are you talking about?” Toli stepped closer.

  “Stay where you are!” Nimrood shouted. Then, in a calmer voice, “That is better. What object?” He shrugged, the torch throwing his black shadow huge against the walls. “I see no point in
keeping it from you. His sword-that is the object I will have.”

  “The Shining One!” gasped Prince Gerin, who had come to stand at Toli’s side.

  “Yes, I believe that is what they call it. A fine weapon I am told, though I have never seen it myself.”

  “No!” cried Gerin. “The King cannot give up the Shining One!”

  “We shall see,” Nimrood chuckled. “We shall see.”

  “The Prince is right. The Dragon King will never surrender the Zhaligkeer. It would mean humbling the throne, and he will not do that.”

  “Pity,” sniffed Nimrood. “But perhaps he will see it differently. What is a throne worth? The life of his only son and heir, and that of his closest friend as well?”

  “I see,” replied Toli coolly. “You would force the choice. But you are forgetting that a King is King first and a man second. He must do what is best for his realm.”

  “In any event, the choice should prove interesting. And we will soon have the opportunity of finding out.”

  “How soon?”

  “Five days time. At midday five days hence you will be led to the temple courtyard and bound. If the King does not bring this enchanted sword of his, you will be killed on the altar of Ariel. Oh, the gods do not require human sacrifices these days, I know. But this time I think the High Priest will insist. What will the courageous King Quentin do with the blood of your deaths on his hands? How will he live with himself, I wonder?” Nimrood stepped back a pace and lifted the torch high. “And now you will wonder, too!”

  Toli stood as one made of stone, fists clenched at his sides, muscles rigid, and watched the old sorcerer disappear. The cell door closed, the bolt scraped in the lock, and the room was dark and quiet once more. They heard Nimrood chuckling to himself as he stalked back along the corridor to his foul nest.

  “Is it true?” asked Gerin when the wizard’s cackling could no longer be heard. His voice trembled as he spoke.

  “Yes,” said Toli, wrapping an arm around the boy and pulling him close. “I am afraid it is true. He might have come here to taunt us with it, but I think not. The old vulture wants us to share the poison of fear between us; he hopes that this knowledge will fester in us like a belly wound. But we must not let it. We must not give up hope for a moment.”