The Warlords of Nin (27 page)

“My lords, in my position of high priest, I worked tirelessly in the sifting of elements to discover the destinies of men and nations. It is my belief that religion should serve man in this way.

“When an omen presents itself, it is studied carefully to determine its import and consequence. I say that to say this: an omen has arisen the like of which has never been seen. It is a star, known to all by its common name—the Wolf Star. Unchanged since time began, it has recently begun to wax with unaccustomed brilliance. It has grown so quickly as not to be believed by any who have not followed its course as closely as I have.”

“This is the star you spoke of, is it not?” Eskevar turned toward Myrmior, who merely dipped his head in assent.

“I see you know of it. Then I need not tell you how curious a thing it is. I have searched through the records of the temple. Back and back—as far back as records have been kept—thousands of years and more.” Biorkis smiled and inclined his white head toward Quentin.

“This I did after your visit to me that night. Your curiosity about the star proved to me that there was something beyond novelty that study might reveal.”

Quentin answered, “As I remember, you were very gloomy in your predictions even then. It was evil, you said, and more.”

“Ah, that I was. Now I know I was right to believe as I did. The sacred records of the temple reveal that such a sign is not unknown. Twice before, long ages ago, such stars have been seen to grow in the sky. And though the old writing is hard to discern, and the meaning of the words is now unclear, it may be said with certainty that such omens betokened the very worst catastrophes for mankind.”

“The end of the age!” said Durwin.

“The end of the age,” agreed Biorkis. “In chaos and death. Destruction such as no man nor beast can survive. Nations are swept away; kingdoms vanish in a single hour, never to return. The face of the earth is changed forever. Lands rise up out of the sea, and continents submerge. All that was shall be changed in the mighty roar of the heavens rending apart. The stars fall from their courses, and the seas rise up. The rivers burn, and the earth crumbles away.

“Thus is the end of the age, and it is at hand.”

The midnight conversation that he and Toli had had in Durwin's chamber when they had first come to Askelon leaped vividly to Quentin's
mind, inspired by Biorkis's pronouncement. Conversation continued around the table; the voices of Ronsard, Theido, Eskevar, and Durwin sounded in his ears, but Quentin did not attend to them. They receded farther and farther from him, and then he heard them no more.

It seemed to him that he now entered a waking dream.

A dark, limitless horizon stretched before him, the darkness brooding and seething as a beast hungering and lying in wait for its prey. Quentin saw a small, bright figure laboring up a rocky slope to stand at last on the top of the hill.

It was a knight in armor, and as he looked more closely, he saw that the armor shone with a cool radiance, scattering light like a prism. The knight faced the brooding darkness and placed his hands to the hilt of his sword. He drew forth his sword, and it flashed with a burning white fire.

He raised his sword, and the darkness retreated before him. Then, with a mighty heave, the knight flung the sword into the air, where it spun, throwing off tongues of fire that filled the sky. As he did so, the knight shouted in a resounding voice, which seemed to echo in Quentin's ears,
“The sword shall burn with flames of fire. Darkness shall die: conquered, it flees on falcon's
wings.”

The talking at the table ceased. All eyes turned toward Quentin, who stood before them, shaking his head and blinking as one awakening from a dream. The surprise on their faces, their open mouths, let Quentin know that he had not heard those words only; he had spoken them aloud before everyone there. The voice echoing in his ears was his own.

“What did he say?” Ronsard wondered.

“It was—I am sorry, excuse me,” Quentin blurted. Toli peered at him through squinted eyes. There were stares all around.

“Where did you hear that?” demanded Durwin, jumping up.

“Why, I heard it just now . . . in a dream. I seem to have had a dream while everyone was talking. I do not know what it means.”

“I do!” Biorkis fairly shouted. “It is from
The Chronicles of the Northern
Kings
.”

“Yes, it is. ‘The Prophecy of the Priest King.'” Durwin towered over Quentin, staring down upon him, eyes sparkling with a fierceness Quentin had never seen. Quentin squirmed uncomfortably on his stool, feeling foolish and light-headed.

“Tell me that you have never read that anywhere, nor heard it spoken in our presence, and I shall believe you.”

“I tell you the truth, Durwin, I never have. The words mean nothing to me, whatever you say. I know them not.”

“It is possible that you may have heard them in Dekra,” mused Durwin. “But I think not. You would remember if you had.”

“What is this?” asked Eskevar, his voice brittle with amazement.

Theido and Ronsard merely gazed in surprise at what was happening before them; Myrmior rubbed his hands absently over his bearded chin, eyes narrowed to slits.

“My lord, it is a wonder! A most powerful sign.” Biorkis closed his eyes. His head began to weave with the cadence, and the old priest's voice swelled to fill the room as he began to recite the ancient prophecy.

“
The stars shall look upon the acts of man. They shall bring forth signs and wonders. Cities of old are still to be seen; the cunning work of giants, the skillful shaping of stone. Wind is the swiftest messenger. The clouds shall fly free forever. Thunder speaks with a mighty voice; the temples quake upon their foundations. The sacred rock shall be cloven. The spear struck upon shield shall make war. The eagle shall ascend on wings of strength; his offspring shall be honored among men. Courage shall be in the warrior. The jewel in the ring shall sit high and broad. The good man in his country shall do deeds of glory. The snake in his chamber shall be pierced. The valor of the knight shall be strong iron; his name is sung in the halls of his fathers. The wolf in the forest shall be craven. The boar in the wood is bold in the strength of his tusks. The king shall have a throne. The priest shall wear a crown. The sword shall burn with flames of fire. Darkness shall die; conquered, it flees on falcon's wings.

“The dragon under the hill shall be ancient; lordly, bold, and unafraid. The gods of high places shall be thrown down; theirs shall be the rage of death. The Most High shall suffer them no more. From out of the temple he has called his servant; his ways shall be exalted.”

29

Esme and Bria were waiting for them as they emerged from the council chambers. Quentin smiled when he saw them, though he did not feel like smiling. The two young women had become such fast friends, they were seen together everywhere, and it pleased Quentin to think that, though very different in many ways, they shared much in common, especially the same iron resolve in matters that touched them deeply. They were, he reflected, the living idea of the word
princess
.

Quentin had not spoken upon emerging from the chamber. He felt weak and a little frightened of what he might say next. The vision and prophecy had unnerved him, making him feel he could no longer trust himself to behave normally. Toli had ushered them all away to a quiet spot in the kitchen, where they could sit and munch apples and be alone.

After a while Quentin recovered some of his usual good humor and began to talk about what had happened. He told of the talk around the table, and of his dream, and the prophecy he had uttered, and how excited Durwin and Biorkis had become after hearing it. It was then that Esme related her own experience with the daughter of Orphe, and the prophecy that had been given to her in exchange for the meal she had cooked for the oracle.

Esme recited the strange prophecy, and Quentin was struck with how similar it was to the one he had himself spoken. Both spoke of a sword of power that would vanquish the invaders with a stroke. When Esme had finished her story, they had all fallen silent for a long time, not daring to break the spell that had descended upon the little group.

For Quentin the time of silence was welcome. He turned the words over in his mind, sifting them, holding them as they tumbled through his consciousness. His vision, so long ago received in his Blessing of the Ariga at the temple of Dekra, seemed now to be taking form, unfolding before him and pulling him along. His vision. Long had he pondered it and held it in his heart. Part of him wanted to run to it, embrace whatever lay ahead, knowing that he would never know true peace unless he did. Another part of him wanted to hold it off, to turn away from its terrible, fierce glory. And Quentin was torn between the two.

Quentin and Toli stood in the night-darkened passageway and knocked. They heard a shuffle on the other side of the heavy door, and it was drawn open slowly. Ronsard's broad, handsome face grinned back at them.

“Enter, friends,” he said. “We have been waiting for you.”

“What is the meaning of this summons? Ronsard, Theido—have you nothing better to do than keep tired men from their beds?” Quentin stepped into Durwin's chamber, made bright by the clustered lights of tall candletrees placed around the room.

“You will regret those harsh words soon, sir,” said Theido quietly. Quentin had spoken in fun, but though Theido smiled, Quentin could tell there was an uneasiness in the knight's manner.

“You are going away!” said Quentin in dismay. He glanced quickly at their faces and knew that he had guessed correctly.

“Yes,” said Ronsard gently. “Before sunrise.”

“But—I do not understand. Why so soon?”

“It must be,” explained Theido. “We are leading the king's own knights against the Ningaal. We must move at once before they have time to draw their strength together.”

“Come in and sit down. We have a little time to part as friends ought,” said Durwin warmly.

Quentin moved woodenly to a chair in front of the empty hearth. Toli settled on the
arm of the chair beside him. What the dark-eyed Jher was feeling could not be read upon his face, though his eyes had gone hard.

“I know it comes as a shock to you, Quentin. But this is the way it must be.” Theido's tone was smooth and assured. “I know you had your heart set on coming with us, but I assume you also know that cannot be. With your arm, you would not last the first clash of battle.”

Quentin was mildly flattered to think that Theido had so high an estimation of his courage. Actually, he had no wish to encounter the brutal Ningaal again.

“That is not the cause of my misgivings, though you do me honor. You cannot go against the Ningaal with the king's retinue alone; it would be disastrous! There are too many, and they are disciplined soldiers every one. I have seen them.”

“We dare not wait any longer,” said Ronsard. “Every day we delay may mean much in time to come. But do not worry overmuch; we do not go entirely alone. Lord Wertwin will meet us with his troops—he will raise a hundred sturdy knights and arms for all.”

“But four hundred or five hundred—what is that against Gurd's thousands? And he is but one of four, if Myrmior speaks true.”

“I think we may say that Myrmior speaks true,” laughed Ronsard. “He is going with us. He will help us to plan our strategy against the warlords.”

“It is no small thing,” agreed Theido. “His help shall prove invaluable; I have no doubt of it.” He leaned forward and searched Quentin's face with earnest, dark eyes. “We must go, Quentin. We must gain this time for Eskevar to bring the other lords around.

“We did not expect such a poor show among our peers. But that is the way of it. They will see that war has come, and they will join us in the end. Of that I have no fear.”

“But in the meantime, while they are making up their minds, you will all be killed!” said Quentin bitterly. “No. there must be some better way.”

“This is how it will be,” said Ronsard. He stood and walked to Quentin and put his hand upon his shoulder. “Do not fear for us, for we do not fear for ourselves. A knight can have but one death, and that one with honor or he is no true knight. I have seen enough battle that it holds no terror for me. I am content.

“We have no intention of moving foolishly. In truth, you will not see two more cautious and prudent men as we. But we must give the king time to pull the lords together, or our cause is lost before it is begun. Myrmior has shown us that, at least.

“Besides, I do not think you will be idle yourself. If I understand Durwin aright, he means to employ you most strenuously. You will have no time to think about us.”

Quentin threw himself out of his chair and grabbed Ronsard by the arm with his good hand. “I will always think about you! Both of you have been more than comrades to me. I wish I could go with you and share your portion. I would gladly take my place on the battlefield with you once again.”