The Warlords of Nin (24 page)

Toli thrust his head in among those gathered around him. The smell of food that he brought with him reminded Quentin how hungry he was.

“Eat, Kenta. We have already done so. We will talk while you breakfast.” Toli set a steaming bowl before him, and Quentin fell to with a ready appetite.

“Myrmior has been telling us of your captivity. You have much to thank him for,” said Theido.

“Myrmior?” The name was strange to Quentin.

“You mean he has risked his life to bring you out of the enemy's camp and you do not know his name?”

“There was not time enough for such pleasantries. We were quite busy with staying alive. And only half succeeding at that.”

“This one has a strong will to survive.” The deep rolling voice was the seneschal's. “I am glad to know you, Lord Quentin.”

“I am no lord, Myrmior.”

“Better than that,” said Ronsard. “He is the king's own son.”

“His ward,” Quentin corrected.

“Ward or son, I see I have chosen well the man to save. From now on, my lords, I am at your service. It will be an insult if you do not allow me to serve you in whatever ways you will.” Myrmior bowed low and touched his forehead with his fingertips.

“You have done service enough for the Dragon King. Your reward is yours to name once we reach Askelon and King Eskevar hears how you have rescued his own from certain death.”

“I was looking out for myself, sir. I, too, was held against my will by the terrible Ningaal. The risk was but a small one for me, even at that.” Myrmior beamed at Quentin and added, “Whatever gods rule this land, they have poured out their favor upon this one. I have never seen a man survive the wheel, and it was that which allowed me to convince Gurd to spare your life.

“And you”—he turned to Toli—“your failed attempt at rescue nearly cost my head as well as your own. But Myrmior is nothing if not resourceful. I turned it to advantage, though you had to endure the anguish of seeing the guard's execution—and fearing the imminence of your own.”

“It was at least less severe than the execution itself would have been,” replied Toli.

“How did you come to be in the company of the—what did you call them?—the Ningaal?”

“The name Ningaal means ‘the Terror of Nin,' his army. It is no secret how I came to be among them, but it is a story I would rather tell to your Dragon King.”

“There is much that you might tell, I would wager,” Ronsard put in. “But the sun is well up, and I think we must put as many leagues between us and the Ningaal as may be. The Dragon King awaits in Askelon, and we must not forget the fearful tidings we bring. There will be much to discuss when we sit down together. For now, it is enough that we reach the king as quickly as possible.”

“My thoughts exactly,” said Theido, rising to his feet.

“Quentin cannot ride in his condition, surely. If you like, I will remain with him and come hence on the morrow when he is more able to withstand the journey,” Esme offered.

Ronsard pulled on his chin. “I did not think that he would be unable to—”

“I can ride; I am well enough.” To show he meant what he was saying, Quentin fought to his feet, where he swayed uncertainly. He took two steps and pitched forward. Theido reached out a hand to catch him, but Quentin collapsed on the ground.

“It is your arm, is it? You cannot move it.”

Quentin rose to his knees, cradling his arm. “It will be all right. It is nothing.”

“It is enough. Why did you not say something?” Theido bent to examine the injured limb; it was swollen and discolored and hot to the touch.

“Well, we can do nothing for it here, but I do not like the look of it. Perhaps Toli and Esme should remain behind with you, though I must confess I like that even less.”

“No one will remain behind, and Kenta will not ride,” said Toli. “Ronsard, send two knights to bring me two young birches. I will fashion a
deroit
for him.”

“Excellent!” cried Ronsard. “I might have known you would have a solution—a litter. My knights will fetch you whatever you need.”

Despite Quentin's protests, which grew feebler with time, the litter was constructed after a style used by the nomadic Jher. The finished deroit was strapped to Blazer, and before the sun had traveled an hour's time, the party set off once more toward Askelon. Esme rode Blazer.

Quentin fumed at being trundled off like so much baggage, but his fussing was mostly for show. Inwardly, he was grateful to Toli for providing him with a means to rest along the way. For despite his assurance to Theido, Quentin was deeply worried about his arm. When he had fallen in the underbrush on the night of their unsuccessful escape, something had snapped—he remembered it vividly—and all the feeling had fled, and with it the ability to move the limb.

The weary party quit the forest they had been traveling through all day. The sun was lowering in a scarlet haze among flaming clouds as they stepped out of the sheltering boughs
upon the hard-packed trail that would lead them to Askelon's gates.

“Tonight we will sleep in proper beds with fresh linen,” said Ronsard. “And we will dine in the Hall of the Dragon King.”

“I wish that it were with lighter hearts than our own that we came here,” Theido replied darkly. “I rue the tidings we must lay upon his shoulders. It is a burden I would not wish on any man.”

“There will be a burden for all of us, I think,” mused Ronsard.

Presently the travelers rounded a bend in the road and came to the edge of a broad, shallow valley. Across the valley rose the great dome of rock upon which stood Castle Askelon, transformed in the gloaming into a city of light. The shadow stretching across the length of the valley had not reached the foundation rock of Askelon; the castle rose out of the purple shadow and glinted in the ruby light, a jewel with soaring spires and towers and graceful bartizans perched upon high walls.

“Oh, it is beautiful,” said Esme, her voice awed and breathless with admiration. “I never dreamed . . .”

“A god's very palace! It is a wonder mortals dare intrude,” said Myrmior. “It far outshines even its own legends.”

Quentin, sprawled on the deroit, craned his neck to see the familiar shape of his beloved Askelon—a sight he never quite got used to, and one that always moved him strangely.
It is far different from Dekra
, he thought,
but the Dragon King's castle is also home to me.
He gazed proudly upon the magnificent structure, rosy in the deepening blue of the twilight sky.

Toli, riding beside Quentin all the way, sat on his horse unmoved and stared at the twinkling jewel across the fair valley.

“What do you say, Toli? We are nearly home.”

Toli did not look at Quentin when he answered, and when he finally spoke, his voice was far away. “It does appear now to be as far as ever it was when we began this journey.”

As usual, Toli was seeing something very different from the others. And Quentin had learned it was no use trying to find out what the Jher meant by these mystical pronouncements.

Ronsard, at the head of the party, urged his mount forward. The others followed him down the gentle slope as the feathery wisps of evening mist began rising in the cool valley. The air was still and silent, a soft sigh upon the land. No one could have described a more perfect picture of peace as they gazed down into the valley growing green with the crops of the peasants, and to the east along the broad expanse of plain already falling to dusk.

From somewhere in the stillness, a bird trilled a poignant farewell as it winged homeward to the nest, and all at once a sadness came over the party. To Quentin, it seemed that some final word had been spoken, and he was indeed seeing Askelon as it would never appear again.

26

Y
ou have returned none too soon, my young man.” Durwin scowled as he examined Quentin's swollen arm. “It appears your arm has been broken and has begun to set.”

“That is good, is it not?” asked Bria anxiously. She held Quentin's left hand and snuggled close to him as the hermit poked and prodded Quentin's injured right arm. Quentin's filthy tunic had been removed and a soft robe draped across his chest. His arm rested on a cushion on a low table which had been pushed up to his couch.

“It will heal, Durwin—yes?” Quentin forced himself to ask the question he feared asking the most. Durwin ignored it and answered Bria's instead.

“I feel it is not good, my lady. Ordinarily, yes. But not this time. As it is, the arm will never heal properly.”

“Oh!”

Durwin hastened to reassure them both. “But I have seen this before. The arm will heal”—he paused to assess the effect his next words would have—“but I must break it again and reset it correctly.”

Quentin winced, and a tear formed in the corner of Bria's eye. “It hurts me to see you in pain, my love,” she said.

“There is but little pain. At first, yes, but not now. I can bear it.”

Durwin bent once more to his examination of the arm and shoulder. “That is what worries me, Quentin. There should be pain—a great deal of pain. I have never known it otherwise. I fear something of greater consequence than a broken bone is involved here. But what it is I cannot say.”

A knock sounded on the chamber door, and Theido stepped into the room. “What say you, Durwin? Will our young warrior's wing heal to fly again?” Catching Durwin's troubled frown, he added, “If I have misspoken I beg your pardon, sir.”

“No, no. You are right,” Durwin blustered. “I am being a silly old man. Of course the arm will heal. We will reset it at once.”

“At once?” Quentin closed his eyes.

“It would be best.”

“After we dine, at least?” offered Theido. “In the hall the meal is being laid. Better to face it on a full stomach, eh?”

“There is no harm. I had forgotten you all have ridden very far. Yes, there is a wonderful meal in honor of your safe return. We can attend to our business after we have eaten.”

“Then let us go directly,” said Theido. “I, for one, stand in need of some rejoicing this night. There will be little enough in the days to come.”

“Meaning what?” asked Durwin.

“Eskevar has announced a Council of War. It begins tomorrow.”

“So soon?”

Theido nodded gravely and left.

Durwin and Bria helped Quentin to his feet and pulled the robe around him after putting his injured arm in a sling. Then they all made their way to the Dragon King's great hall.

The hall, shimmering in the light of a hundred golden torches, was even larger and more glorious than Quentin remembered. It seemed as if it had been many years since he had been in the hall. Steeped in its own kind of emotion and majestic drama, it was his favorite place in all the castle, and had deeply intrigued him since he had first seen it as a boy.

A crackling fire roared in the massive hearth, and the flames on the ranks of black stone columns marched the entire length of the hall. Long tables had been set down the center of the hall, and these terminated at the dais where the king's table stood. A royal blue baldachin edged in silver and bearing the king's blazon arched gracefully above his table.

The great hall was filled with people. Servants rushed here and there carrying huge platters of meat—fish, fowl, venison, pork, and dozens of roasts on spits. Knights and lords, some with their falcons on their arms, strolled with their ladies. Minstrels wandered through the crowd or played for smaller groups on request. Maidens with flowers in their hair flirted coyly with passing youths. The hall was a riot of color, a meandering current of gaiety.

Quentin's heart swelled within him as he beheld the splendor of the Dragon King's hall.

Two servants carrying a basin came hurrying up as the three entered. The basin was in the shape of a dragon and contained warm water scented with roses. Quentin dipped his good hand, while Bria washed it for him and then dried it with a soft linen cloth offered by one of the servants. Durwin dipped his hands, and the two young servants dashed away to offer the courtesy to other newly arrived guests.

As they moved into the stream of the jovial guests, trumpets sounded from the far end of the hall.

“Ah,” said Durwin, “we are precisely on time. Let us take our seats.”

He moved at once to the high table, and Quentin and Bria followed. Toli and Esme met them as they ascended the dais to find their places, while servants scurried around, filling goblets of onyx with wine and ale. Esme fairly glowed in her bejeweled gown. For once,
thought Quentin, she looked the princess she really was.

“This is most wonderful,” she cooed. “You are so kind, Bria, to lend me one of your beautiful gowns. I feel like a woman again, after all those days on the back of a horse.” The two young women laughed; Quentin and Toli looked on, smiling.

“Toli has most kindly conducted me all through the castle, and I am much impressed. I have long heard stories of Askelon's wealth, but the stories do not tell half.”