The empty villages-first Persch, then Yallo and Biskan-had greatly troubled him; though he sought time and again for a logical explanation, none was forthcoming. He wondered if Theido and Ronsard had discovered them as well. They must have if they had passed through, or the towns may have been abandoned after the knights had ridden on. There was no telling how long ago they had traveled the road, where they might have stayed, or who they might have seen.
Quentin hoped, though reason told him six armed knights were a match for anything, that they had not encountered whatever it was that had overtaken Esme’s party.
They rode for an hour or more, following the rising and falling trail as it climbed and descended the gently undulating hills along the coast. At each crest they could see the great sea, lying dark and still in the distance. Gerfallon was not troubled by the mere vexations of mortal men; he slept in his deep bed, and his creatures with him.
Quentin stopped at the crest of the next hill and waited until Toli, with Esme sitting behind, hands on knees, had drawn up beside him. Blazer jigged sideways, impatient with the delay.
“What do you think that could be?” asked Quentin, nodding in the direction of the dark northern hills. A fault leaden smudge could be barely seen glowing in the sky faraway. “If I did not know better, I would say that the sun was coming up in the north today. A false sun that would be.”
“I have seen such false sunrises, and you may suspect some misfortune is at hand.”
“What is it?” asked Esme.
“Fire,” said Toli.
“Are you certain? It does not look like a fire to me,” said Quentin, leaning forward in his saddle for a better look. “Why, it would take a pile of wood the size of a-”
“Village.” Toli supplied the missing word.
“You do not think…” cried Quentin with growing alarm. “Illem lies in that direction!”
“Yes, a league to the north, I would say.”
“Then we waste time talking,” said Quentin as he turned his horse toward the glow in the sky. “We may be of some help. Let us go!”
“Hold tight, my lady,” said Toli as he snapped the reins. Riv leaped from the track and bounded after Quentin’s gliding shape.
As the horses galloped at full speed, the glow on the horizon brightened and spread. At half a league it covered the far hills and deepened with an ugly reddish hue. The hanging gloom of smoke could be discerned against the darker curtain of night.
In the east the sky had grown pearly with the coming of the dawn, making the glow ahead seem even more ominous and unnatural.
Quentin reined to a halt at the bottom of a deep ravine. In the spring the thaw from the Fiskills filled the dry bed with icy water. Now it was filled with weeds and brush, the waters having long since emptied into the sea.
“I think Illem lies just beyond the ridge,” said Quentin. The ravine carved its way through a long trough of a valley bounded on three sides by low ridges. From the bottom of the dry stream bed the sky to the north shone as rust and the smoke rolled away on the landward wind.
“Something is wrong,” said Toli. “We should proceed with caution until we can find out where the enemy lies.”
“I agree,” said Esme. “We are only three against who knows how many.”
Quentin looked at her with surprise. She evidently counted herself as one of the protectors rather than the one protected. “Why must there be any enemy? Surely you don’t think…” Quentin stopped; he knew Toli’s uncanny instinct well enough to know that even his slightest whims should be taken seriously. He had seen them proven true too often to dismiss them lightly. “Very well, we will continue along the valley until we draw even with town. Then we can climb out below it in the shelter of the ridge.”
They started off again, but at a more measured gait. Quentin led the way, scanning the tops of the hills for any signs of unusual activity. They had proceeded only a little way when the course wound around a sharp bend. “Wait!” shouted Toli in a sharp whisper. “Listen!”
Just around the bend could be heard an odd muffled sound, as if a large animal were rooting in the soft soil of the dry stream bed. It shuffled along, breathing heavily, with an airy, bristling sigh. Blazer and Riv both lifted their ears at the sound.
“What can it be?” wondered Esme, her whisper almost lost in the quickly growing intensity of the sound.
“Whatever it is, it is coming this way,” said Quentin. “Over here!” He spurred Blazer toward the near bank to escape the path of the oncoming beast.
But he was too late. As Blazer jumped forward, the thing came churning around the bend. Quentin had a glimpse of a vast, rippling body-shapeless and ill-defined. The creature saw him too, and let out a whelp which seemed to come from a dozen throats at once. It was then that Quentin knew what it was.
“Hold!” shouted Quentin, laying the reins hard to his mount’s side, so that Blazer reared on his hind legs and wheeled about. His command echoed from the far bank. Toli was instantly at his side.
The beast screamed and broke into a hundred separate pieces, each one darting in a different direction. The strange beast was, in fact, the townspeople of Illem fleeing their burning homes en masse. The sound had been that of many feet hurrying through the dry brush and the murmur of fear as they fled.
“Hold!” Quentin called again. “In the name of the Dragon King!”
The people stopped. The sight of the instantly appearing horse and rider rooted them to the spot. For a moment no one dared to move. Quentin judged them to be as many as fifty in all-men, women and children.
One brave man stepped forward. “Do not hinder us, sir. Whoever you be, if you be friend let us go!” The man approached Quentin slowly. The others behind him were too frightened to move or speak.
“We will do you no harm; have no fear,” said Quentin.
The man looked over his shoulder and cried, “The Destroyer is upon us! We have only escaped with our lives-let us go! Even now he comes for us!”
“Who is this Destroyer? We will meet him and-”
“No, it is too late!” He made a quick motion to his followers and as they started to move on, the man suddenly threw his hand in the air. “Ahh! They have found us!”
Quentin looked behind them and saw something moving by torchlight down the sides of the ravine. He drew his sword from its place behind his saddle and heard the ring of Toli’s blade at the same time.
“Run for it!” Quentin cried to the townspeople. “We will protect your escape.”
Toli charged ahead, and Quentin saw more torches boiling down the side of the ravine. Quentin leaned forward on Blazer’s neck, darted toward the embankment and drove straight to the nearest of them. He heard Toli’s blade sing in the air and the crash of metal followed by a stifled cry. With his own sword held high, he leaped across the flat bed of the stream and caught a confused group of mail-clad soldiers as they tumbled down the bank. Two of them felt the bite of his blade, and two others fled back up the bank.
Turning, Quentin found his way barred from behind. Blazer reared and lashed out with frying hooves. Quentin’s sword became a flashing shield before him as he fought to Toli’s side. Twice a lance head thrust out of the darkness, and each time the sword sliced through the shaft. Now a buckler was cleaved in two, and then a helm.
It was clear that the soldiers had not anticipated finding men on horseback. They were uncertain what to do and ran into each other in an effort to stay out of range of Toli’s well-trained steeds. This led Quentin to believe that, though greatly outnumbered, they would prevail.
But once over the initial surprise, the soldiers quickly regrouped and surrounded the riders. “We are cut off!” cried Quentin as he raced by Toli. “We must break through the line. Where it the weakest point?”
“There-see that gap?” Esme called. Quentin saw her point past him with her dagger.
He looked and saw a space between two soldiers who were hurrying toward them. “Good eye, girl! Follow me!” He t
hrew the reins ahead, and Blazer sprang for the spot. Closer, he saw that a wall of low bushes stood in the gap. Before he had time to think, Blazer was up and over it.
Toli was not so lucky. Riv, with the weight of an extra rider, charged up and cleared the shrubs with his forelegs, but his hind legs became tangled in the branches. Quentin saw all three go down as soldiers instantly converged on the spot.
Blazer thundered to a churning stop, and Quentin pulled him around and headed back into the fray. “Whist Orren, protect your servant!” he cried in desperation.
In the scant few moments of battle, the sky had lightened enough to see the soldiers distinct from the darker background. Quentin sounded a battle cry and prepared for the shock of the inevitable collision. He saw Riv thrashing his head as the horse regained his feet. Toli and Esme were lost beneath a dozen black shapes of soldiers swarming over them.
Quentin bore down and slashed out at the jumble of lances and swords. He heard the gasps of pain and felt the sword strike deep. He thrust and thrust again and the roiling mass of bodies parted.
Then he felt something tugging at his cloak, yanking him backwards. Hands reached out and grabbed his arms; his sword was struck from his hand. Blazer reared and jumped, but the grip on Quentin’s arms held firm and he was hauled from his saddle.
As he tumbled to the ground he saw Esme leap up out of nowhere and then past him. For one heartbeat their eyes met. In that same instant Quentin thought she would come to his aid. But she turned away and was instantly in Toli’s saddle. Then Quentin was on the ground and a foot smashed into his throat.
As the world spun sickeningly before his eyes, he heard the sound of Riv’s hooves pounding away.
THIRTEEN
HEAVY DRAPERIES were hung across the windows of the Dragon King’s chamber. The barest thread of light shone through a chink in the gathered cloth to fall in a single shaft upon the King’s high bed. Otherwise, the room was as dark as a cave deep under a hill.
Durwin entered quietly and stood for a moment by the door. He pressed a finger to his chin and then moved closer, listening to the irregular and shallow breathing of the still form on the bed. He stepped near the stricken King and stooped to peer into the sleeping man’s face. It was then that he detected the faint, putrid odor of death.
The holy hermit spun around and lay the wooden goblet he carried on a nearby table. He went to the high narrow window and seized the draperies in both hands and pulled with all his might. There was a tearing sound and a crash as the stifling folds came tumbling down beneath an avalanche of dazzling morning light now streaming into the gloomy chamber.
Fresh air swept fair and warm into the night-chilled room and banished the foul stench. The man on the bed, pale and wizened amidst his mounds of thick coverings, stirred feebly. A breathless moan passed his lips.
“My King, awaken!” shouted Durwin, bending close. “Do you hear me? Awaken, I say, and throw off the sleep of death!”
Durwin snatched up the goblet and, slipping his arm beneath Eskevar’s head, brought it close to the invalid’s lips. He poured and the yellow liquid ran down the King’s chin and neck, staining his bedclothes.
But some of the medicine seeped into his patient’s mouth. The King gasped weakly and the hermit poured again, emptying the goblet. In a moment the gray eyelids flickered and raised, revealing two dark eyes, filmy with stupor.
“Awake, Eskevar. Your time is not yet.” The eyes stared unmoving in their milky gaze. “Oh, have I come too late?” Durwin muttered to himself.
“What is it? Durwin? What has hap-” The Queen appeared in the open doorway. She took two steps into the room, then saw her husband staring upward, motionless, “Oh!” she cried, rushing to the bed.
“He is with us still, my Lady. But for how long I cannot say.” As he spoke, Alinea clutched his arm for support, then threw herself upon the bed, burying her face deep in the bedclothes. In a moment her sobs could be heard, muffled and indistinct.
Durwin stood aside regarding the Queen and her dying King. His own heart swelled with pity and grief. “God Most High,” he prayed, “you give men life and receive it back from them when their span is done. All things grow in their season as established by your command. Surely it is to you a hateful thing when life is cut short.
“An evil malady afflicts our King and crushes him in a deadly embrace. Release him from it. Turn his steps back from their downward path, and restore him once more to his loved ones and to his realm.”
Durwin’s quiet prayer lingered in the air like a healing balm. The breeze blew softly, carrying the scent of roses from the gardens outside. It whispered softly in the stillness of the room. Then all was silent.
“Durwin-look!” Alinea exclaimed. In her hands she clasped one of Eskevar’s as she knelt at his side. The King was now gazing quietly at both of them; his eyes were moist with tears.
“Oswald!” Durwin called. The Queen’s chamberlain, hovering near the door, stepped fearfully into the room. “Fetch me the flagon upon my worktable!” The worried servant disappeared at once and was back before Durwin could add, “And hurry!”
The hermit once more administered the liquid, pulling the seal from the stoppered bottle and pouring it down the King’s throat.
This time Eskevar coughed deeply, closed his eyes as if in pain and said, in a voice barely audible, “Have I fallen so low as to be poisoned in my own bed?”
“The King complains-that is certainly a good sign.” The Queen turned an anxious visage toward the hermit. “My Lady, he is safe for the moment, but not out of danger yet.”
Durwin moved about the bed and began throwing off the coverings of wool and fur. “I have been foolish and slow-witted, however. Perhaps the King would not have sunk so far, almost beyond return, if I had been more observant. Come, my Lady, we must get him up.”
Alinea looked doubtful. “Do you think…”
“At once. He must save the strength he still possesses. He must use it to gain more. Help me to get him on his feet.”
They took the unresisting body of the King, now light as feather down, between them and raised it carefully. Supporting him by the arms, they pulled him from the bed gently and placed his bare feet upon the floor. “Ahhh!” Eskevar cried out in pain. The Queen threw a worried glance at Durwin, who only nodded as if to say, “Continue; it must be done.”
Carefully they walked him step by halting step back and forth across the room, stopping to stand before the window each time to allow him to catch his breath. On and on they walked, the King’s head lolling on his shoulders, barely conscious.
By midday Eskevar could move freely, though he still required the arm of his Queen for support. His brow was damp with sweat and his shrunken frame shaken by racking spasms of violent coughing. He swooned with exhaustion.
Durwin and Oswald carried him back to the bed as Alinea looked on, wringing her hands. “He will sleep soundly now, I think. We will wake him again in a while to eat. And he must walk again before the sun sets. I will watch him through the night.”
Durwin turned away from the bed and shook his head back and forth slowly. “How could I have let him slip so far?”
“In truth, it is not your blame. You have done all that could be asked, and even now you have saved his life.” Alinea patted Durwin’s arm gently and smiled with calm assurance.
“The god has opened my eyes in time, my Lady. That is something indeed to be thankful for. But we must not slacken our vigil again or he will be lost. He is very weak and his strength very fragile.”
“Come to the kitchen, Durwin, and refresh yourself. You, too, will be needing your strength in the hours to come, as will we all.”
Quentin twisted on the ground. A sharp pain seared through his side. One eye was swelling shut, and his mouth, tasting of blood, throbbed with a dull ache. He raised his head slowly and looked cautiously about.
Smoke from the burning town still drifted in hanging cloud’s which rolled along the ground, stinging his
eyes and making his nose run. The sun was barely up, a fierce red ball burning through the black haze which filled the air and seeped down the slopes of the ravine where he lay.
A soldier nearby saw Quentin’s slight movement and jabbed him in the shoulder with the butt of his lance. Quentin put his head down again and lay still; he had seen what he wanted to see. The main force of soldiers had moved off; only a few remained to guard the prisoners-if prisoners there were, for Toli was nowhere to be seen.
Quentin tried to wiggle his fingers, but they were numb. The ropes which bound him had been tied tightly and efficiently. Both hands were thrust behind his back and lashed together; a loop passed around his neck and one around his feet. To move hands or feet tightened the noose around his neck and strangled him. But periodically Quentin wormed this way and that in an attempt to better reckon his surroundings.
It was only by the hand of the god that he was still alive. In the chaotic moment of his capture he had been instantly beaten senseless. As he lay bleeding on the ground, a scowling warrior had raised a double-bladed axe over him. Quentin had seen the blade flash on its downward arc toward his heart.
He was saved at the last heartbeat by a hand which caught the axe-man’s arm in midstroke. An argument had broken out then. Although Quentin could not understand the slurred words of the rough speech, he knew that it concerned him and his probable fate. The soldier with the axe wanted to kill him at once. The other apparently insisted upon waiting, probably for a superior’s approval. Quentin was then bound up and left to wonder what awaited him.
He did not have long to wait.
He heard the hollow sound of a horse’s hooves. There was a sudden scurrying around him, a harsh voice barked out an order, and he was jerked ungently upward to his knees by two grim warriors grasping him by the arms. The voice uttered another command, and Quentin’s head was snapped sharply back by a hand thrust into his hair. His eyes squeezed shut with the pain.
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