“What is it?”
“Someone is coming! Up there in the cliffs-I am certain of it!”
He ordered his knights in a harsh whisper, “Put out the fire and take the horses aside. Hide yourselves and watch me for a signal!”
In the space of five heartbeats the small camp was deserted, and no sign remained that only a moment before five knights had been encamped there.
Then Ronsard and Theido sat down to wait in the dark alongside the road, hidden from view by a low-lying clump of harts-tongue. Shortly there could be heard the minute sounds of a group of people hurrying along the path, desperately trying to pass unseen: the rattling echo of a stone dislodged by a careless foot, the muffled creak of a wheel upon the rock, a cough.
Then their murky shapes could be seen against the night sky as they drew nearer. They were on foot, and there were smaller shadows among the larger ones. They huddled together in a close knot, rather than ranging themselves along the trail; they evidently feared separation more than detection.
“It is no army,” breathed Ronsard between clenched teeth. He let his breath out slowly. “But now to find out who they are and why they risk the cliffs in the night-the very thing we declined to do.”
“We had a choice; perhaps they felt they had none,” replied Theido.
Ronsard rose from his place and stepped near to the trail, just ahead of the nocturnal travelers’ leader. When the man approached close at hand, Ronsard said in a loud, steady voice, “Halt, friend! In the name of the Dragon King!”
A shriek and a stifled oath came from the main body of the group. But the man stopped dead in his tracks and looked about him for the source of the unexpected command. Ronsard stepped closer, and the moonlight fell on his face. He smiled and held up his hands to show the frightened travelers that he meant them no harm.
“Wh-what do you w-want?” the leader managed to stammer.
“I wish to speak with you-that is all. I will not detain you long.” Ronsard still spoke in the same steady voice, loud enough for all to hear.
“Who are you?”
“I am the Lord High Marshall of Mensandor,” replied Ronsard. “Who are you, and whither do you run by the light of the moon?”
“Oh, sir!” gasped the relieved man. “You do not jest? You are really a King’s man?”
“At your service. Are you in trouble?”
At this all the people rushed forward and drew close around Ronsard as if to seek the protection of his title, a welcome shield over their heads. They all began to shout.
Theido crept from his hiding place and came to stand beside Ronsard, who held up his hands and called for quiet. “I think I would better hear the tale from only one mouth at a time. You are the leader of this band.” He pointed to the man he had addressed at first. “You begin.”
The man’s face shone pale in the moonlight, but Theido got the impression that it would be pale in bright daylight as well. Deep lines of fear were drawn on the man’s countenance. His eyes did not hold steady, but shifted to the right and left and all around as if to warn him of the imminent approach of an enemy.
“I… we…” The man’s mouth worked like a pump, but words were slow in coming.
“It is all right; you are safe for the time. I have soldiers with me, and we will defend you at need.” Ronsard raised his arm in signal and his knights came forward to stand along the trail, their hands upon the hilts of their long swords.
Their presence seemed to frighten the man rather than calm him.
“Come, you may speak freely,” said Theido in a gentle voice.
“We are from Dora,” the leader managed to squeak out at length. “We have left our homes and carry all our belongings with us. We are going to the High Temple.” He paused, gulped air and plunged ahead. “We know not where else to go.”
“It is a strange pilgrimage you make, friend,” observed Ronsard. “Why do you leave your homes and flee by night?”
“Have you not heard? They are coming… a terrible host, terrible. They have landed at Halidom, and they are coming. Why, we are fleeing for our lives to the protection of Ariel! Only the god can save us now.”
“Who is coming? Have you seen anyone?”
The man looked at Ronsard wide-eyed with disbelief. “Do you not know? How is this possible? The whole land is in turmoil! We are fleeing for our lives!”
The people began to shout again, each pouring out his heart, beseeching the King’s men to help them escape. Ronsard and Theido listened and drew aside to confer. “Something has frightened these people, that much is clear. Though what remains a mystery. I can make no sense out of it.” Ronsard scratched his jaw.
Theido called the leader over to where they stood. “Good sir, have you seen someone? This enemy you flee from? Do you know from whence he comes?”
The man hesitated. “Well… we have seen no one. But we dared not wait. Two days ago, men of Halidom in the Suthlands came to Dora, and they told us of terrible things which had happened there. A mighty enemy has risen up and drives all before him. Their city was burned, and the streets ran with the blood of their children and women. Those that would save their lives fled to the hills. So we flee while we still may.”
“This enemy-did you hear a name?”
“It is too terrible to say!” The man threw his hands heavenward in supplication.
“Terrible it may be, but we will hear it. Tell what you know,” commanded Ronsard. His authoritative tone seemed to have a calming effect upon the frightened peasant.
He looked from one to the other of them and said, his voice now a strained whisper, “It is Nin the Destroyer!”
SEVEN
THEIDO LOOKED blankly at Ronsard and then back at the frightened peasant. The man’s eyes glittered wide and round in the moonlight. He had scarcely dared utter his enemy’s name, and his tongue had frozen in his mouth. But as appalling as the name was to the peasant-enough at least to inspire a whole village to flight at the very, sound of it-the name meant nothing to Theido or Ronsard.
“I have never heard this name,” said Theido. Ronsard shook his head and looked hard at the peasant.
“Is there another name by which this enemy may be known? We know nothing of this Nin or his armies.”
“No-there is no other name I know.”
“Halidom was destroyed? These men that came to Dora, they saw it destroyed?”
“Yes, so they said. Some of them had lost everything-home and family, possessions-everything.”
Theido turned to Ronsard. “There is where we will find our answer-at Halidom.”
“So it would seem. We will go there and see what may be seen. The King will want to know in any case.” He turned back to the leader of the fleeing people. “This Nin you speak of-he was moving toward Dora, you say? How did you know if you did not see him?”
“The men of Halidom told us. The enemy ranges the whole countryside. No place is safe from him. That is why we go to the High Temple at Narramoor to ask the god to protect us.”
“There may be a safer place than even the temple,” said Theido. “I have lands at Erlott which need the work of many hands. Go there and present yourself to my steward, called Toflin. Tell him his master sends you to him that he may give you shelter and food and land to work. And give him this.” Theido drew a small round token from the pouch at his belt: a clay tile baked hard with his signet pressed into it.
The peasant stared at the signet tile and then at Theido. He seemed as much dismayed by it as by Nin himself. “Are we to be sold into slavery because we have no place to go? We have left our homes to become serfs of the King’s men?” He had spoken loudly, and there came a murmur from the rest of the group standing a little way off.
“My offer,” explained Theido, “is honorable. You may take it or no. I do not withdraw it. I keep no serfs; all who work my lands are free and enjoy the fruits of their labors in equal share. If you doubt my words, go there and see for yourselves. In any case you are free to leave or s
tay once you have seen. No one compels you to do as I bid.
“Only know this: if you stay, you will be required to do your share and to work the land that is given you. If you do not, your place will be given to another who will.”
The man looked at the token in Theido’s hand. He reached out for it hesitantly, casting a sideways glance to the others in his band.
“We, too, are honorable, though we are but men of low birth.” He snatched the tile out of Theido’s hand. “We will go to your lands at Erlott and inquire of your steward; we will see how he receives us. If he bears the good will of his master, you will find us busy in your fields when you return from your duties.” He bowed stiffly from the waist and turned to go. He paused and turned again. “If it be as you say, you have our thanks, my lord.”
“I do not ask for thanks, but only that you will do as we have agreed. That shall be to me more than gratitude itself.”
The man bowed again and went to where his people waited to learn the outcome of the interview just concluded. Words were exchanged quickly; there were mumbled whispers all around, and suddenly the band was on it’s way again, but bolder this time and changed in mood. Several of the refugees waved their thanks to Theido as they passed, and all talked excitedly together as they moved hurriedly away down the trail.
“Well, you have done your fellows a fine service this night. I hope you will not have cause to regret your kindness,” said Ronsard when they had gone.
“One never regrets a kindness, my friend. But I have no doubt that I have gained as much as they in the bargain.”
“How so?”
“Good land needs the plowman’s hand to bring it to life and a husband to care for it. If I did not have men to work my fields, they would soon become barren and worthless. These men do me great service by helping me care for my lands. Rightly managed, there is more than enough for everyone.”
“Well, I hope we may see your trust proved true. But why not? The realm has known nothing but peace these many years and we are at peace still.”
“I wonder,” replied Theido, “I wonder.”
Quentin hastened along wide corridors lined with rich tapestries toward the Dragon King’s apartments. Upon rising, he had been summoned to meet with the King in his private council chambers, and had dressed in fresh garments-a new tunic and trousers of forest green and a short summer cloak of blue, edged in green and gold. The finely embroidered cloak, fastened with a broach of gold at his shoulder, fluttered out behind him as he swept along.
Just as he stepped up to the door which opened onto Eskevar’s apartments, the door swung inward and Oswald, the Queen’s chamberlain, emerged. “Sir, if you would but come aside with me, my Lady would have a word with you.”
Oswald smiled his request, but his gray eyes insisted; so Quentin nodded his assent and followed the chamberlain. They withdrew to a room just across the corridor from the King’s chambers. Oswald knocked upon the door and stepped in. “Quentin is here, Your Majesty.”
Quentin stepped into the room behind the chamberlain and saw Queen Alinea sitting on a bench in the center of the room with her hands folded in her lap. Her eyes were bent toward the floor, but her look was faraway, and Quentin saw lines of worry creasing her noble brow.
When he had entered, the Queen sat up and her face was suddenly transformed by a beautiful smile. Instantly the dim chamber seemed filled with light. She rose as he came to her and held out her arms to embrace him. Quentin hugged her and brushed her pale cheek with his lips; she kissed both of his.
“Quentin, you have come! Oh, I am so glad you are here. Your journey was not unpleasant, I trust? It is good to have you back. The months seem long when you are away.” She gripped his hand in both of hers and led him to the bench. “Please, sit with me but a little.” To Quentin’s glance she answered, “I know the King is waiting, but it is important. I would have a word with you before you enter his presence.”
Her sparkling green eyes, deep and serene as forest pools, searched his for a moment, as if deciding whether the hearer would be strong enough to bear the words she had to say. “Quentin,” she said softly, “the King is very ill.”
“So I have learned from Bria.” He blushed. “We met this morning when I arrived. She told me of her concern for his health.”
“But I think even Bria docs not guess how far he has fallen. She is devoted to her father and loves him with all her heart, but she does not know him as I do. Something consumes him before my eyes; it gnaws at him from within, stealing his strength and sapping away his spirit.”
Again in answer to Quentin’s look, she continued, “Do not wonder at what I tell you; you will see for yourself soon enough. He has greatly changed since last you saw him. It is all I can do to keep from weeping in his presence.” She appeared to be on the verge of tears at that very moment
“My Queen, I am your servant. Say the word and I will do whatever you require.”
“Only this. Take no unusual notice of him when you go in to him; be to him as normally. Do not let on that you believe him ill, or that I have told you anything of his condition.”
“I promise it. But is there nothing else I may do?”
“No.” She patted his hand. “I know that you would if you could. But I have sent for Durwin and have placed a heavy charge on him. It may take all of his healing powers to restore the King-if he is not now beyond them.”
“I will pray to the Most High that Durwin’s cures may have effect.”
“That is my course, as well,” smiled the Queen, and again the room seemed lighter, for a dark cloud had passed over Quentin’s heart as they talked. He rose more encouraged. “Go to him now, my son. And remember what I told you.”
“I will, my Lady. You need not fear.”
Quentin quietly left the room, and when he had stepped back into the corridor he found Oswald waiting for him. The chamberlain led him back to the King’s chambers, knocked, then admitted him.
“Your Majesty, Quentin is here.”
Quentin drew a deep breath and stepped across the threshold. In the center of the high-ceilinged chamber sat a heavy, round oaken table, shaped liked the room itself, for it was a part of one of Askelon’s many towers. Small round windows of amber glass tinted the afternoon light with a warm hue. Eskevar was standing in a shaft of light from one of these windows, his back turned, gazing out onto the courtyard below.
There was an awkward moment when Quentin could not speak, and the King did not seem to have heard the chamberlain’s announcement. Quentin hesitated, feeling suddenly trapped. Then the King turned slowly and fixed his eyes upon Quentin. A thin smile stretched his lips. “Quentin, my son, you have come.”
If not for the Queen’s warning, Quentin did not know what he would have done. He bit his lower lip to stifle a cry and then recovered himself and forced a grin.
“I came as soon as I could. Toli’s horses are magnificent. I believe they have wings. We flew over the land at a fair pace.”
Still smiling-the sad, weak smile of a dying man, Quentin thought-the King advanced slowly and offered his hand.
Quentin took it without hesitation and could not help noticing how weak the King’s grip had become, and how cold the feel of his hand.
Eskevar’s flesh had taken on a waxen pallor, and his eyes seemed to burn with a dull, feverish light. His lips were cracked and raw, and his hair, that crowning glory of rich, dark curls, hung limp and lifeless and had turned now almost completely gray.
Quentin found himself staring at the face of a strange man who looked at him intently with sunken eyes rimmed with dark circles. He looked away quickly and said, “This is a cheery room, Sire. Will we be alone, or are others expected?”
“Others will come, but not yet. I wanted to speak to you alone first. Please, sit down.” The King lowered himself slowly into a chair at the round table, and Quentin followed. He wanted to weep at the sight of Eskevar, the mighty Dragon King who was now tottering like an old man.
How could this be? wondered Quentin. How could such a change be wrought in such a short time? In a scant eight or nine months the King had deteriorated to a shocking degree. Quentin wanted to dash from the room, to remove himself far away from the creature who sat beside him and who wore the King’s crown.
Eskevar gazed into the young man’s eyes with a look of inexpressible gentleness; a fatherly compassion which Quentin had never seen there before suddenly flowered. Quentin was strangely moved and forgot for a moment the horror of the King’s shattered health.
“Quentin,” said Eskevar after a moment’s contemplation, “as you know, I have no son, no heir to my throne save Bria. My brother, Prince Jaspin, is banished, nevermore to return.
“I think it time for me to choose my successor.”
“Oh, no, Sire,” Quentin snapped. “Now is not the time to think of such things. You have many years ahead of you. You are strong yet.”
Eskevar shook his head slowly, frowning slightly. “No, it is not to be. Quentin”-again the sweet, sad smile and fatherly glance-”Quentin, I am dying.”
“No!”
“Yes! Hear me!” The King raised his voice. “Slowly it may be, but I am dying. I shall not live to see another spring. It is time for me to set my house in order.
“I intend to choose you as my successor-wait! Since you are not in direct bloodline, it will have to go before the Council of Regents. But I expect no problem there. As I have chosen you myself, they will ratify my choice gladly.”
Quentin sat gazing at his folded hands, speechless. The King’s words had stricken him mute.
After what seemed like hours he looked up and saw Eskevar watching him quietly, but intensely. “You honor me greatly, Sire. But I am not worthy of such high accord. I am an orphan, and of no noble birth. I am not worthy to be King.”
“You, Quentin, are my ward. You have been a son to me as I have watched you grow to manhood these last years. I want you, and no other, to wear my crown.”
“I do not know what to say, my Lord.”
“Say but that you will do as I command; ease my heart in this matter.”
The warlords of Nin dk-2 Page 5