The Sword and the Flame (22 page)

Pym merely shrugged. “'Pears I come too late.” He was of half a mind to tell them about the dead man in the road, and about the sword. But even though they were his friends, he thought better of it and kept that part secret. “'Twas over before we'uns got to Pelgrin, tho a'course we met lotsa bodies on the road to tell it.”

“Oh, there's talk aplenty, there is,” agreed Milcher. “Most of it not worth a thimble o'mud. They say it was the Harriers got the boy prince. Others say it was some of that swill-belly Nin's cravens who've been hiding up in the mountains all these years. Bah! That lot was driven into the sea at lancepoint—ever' last one of 'em.”

“Strange, though, how nobody has seen hand nor hair of them that took him. 'Tis very like the earth opened up and swallowed them whole, quick as you please. Nobody seen nothing,” said Otho.

“I saw the king,” volunteered Pym. “This mornin' on the road. Least I thought 'twas the king. Looked a king t' me.”

“Likely did. Likely did,” said Milcher, slapping the board with his hand. “Ham the butcher says the king rode in this morning all a-lather. Been riding like a wraith for days.”

“Did he have his sword when you saw him?” Otho asked Pym.

“What a question!” Milcher cried. “Of course he did. The Dragon King never goes anywhere without that sword. That's what makes him invincible.”

Otho did not back down. “That's not what I heard.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward across the table so no one would overhear him, though there was no one else in the place. “I heard from Glenna, the queen's maidservant—”

“Glenna's his sweetheart,” put in Otho's mother, smiling a knowing smile. “Works in the royal kitchen.”

Otho threw a warning glance in her direction but hurried on. “—that there's talk in the castle that the king has lost his sword!”

“Lost his sword?” Milcher gasped, staring wide-eyed at his son. “Bah!”

“He never would!” said his mother in a hushed tone. “Lose the Shining One? Never!”

Otho only nodded, his eyes squinted. “He rode out with it the day of the hunt. Everyone in Mensandor saw it—its great golden hilt gleaming from the scabbard at his side. We all saw it.” He put his finger in the air for emphasis. “But no one saw it when he returned.”

“What happened t' it?” asked Pym. His heart raced faster.

Otho licked his lips. “No one knows.” His voice was a whisper. “But they say that if the Zhaligkeer is gone, the kingdom is ruined.”

“Pshaw!” said his father uneasily. “Who would believe it?”

“It could well be,” maintained Otho. “Could well be.”

“The king is still king, isn't he?” Emm glanced at her son apprehensively.

“Aye, as long as he holds the sword. That sword is his power. Without it he is doomed.”

“Doomed?” wondered Pym.

“Aye, and you would be too. There's some as says that Quentin isn't the rightful king, not being blood and all.”

“He was chosen, by the gods!” cried Milcher.

“Chosen he was. But it was the sword that backed it up.” Otho inclined his head conspiratorially. “It is the work of the gods. They are angry with this new temple of his; they don't like his chasing after that new god—that Most High. The old gods are going to humble him as an example to the whole kingdom to return to true worship with gifts and supplications.”

Otho crossed his long arms and leaned back in his chair, smug in his rightness in the matter. The others looked at one another helplessly. Who was there to dispute what they had heard?

If this was a matter between gods, who could intercede on behalf of mere mortals? Who could contest the gods?

Once there was a resolute young man with a flaming sword who had the very hand of god upon him. He was strong, invincible. But he, too, had proven only human, subject to the wounds and errors of all flesh.

How fickle the gods were. They had allowed him to prosper for a season; now they wanted their tribute, and even the Dragon King would have to bend before them. Blazing sword or not, they meant to have their due, and the king could not refuse them.

The glittering dreams of the priest king and his wonderful City of Light were just smoke after all. Men were just the playthings of the gods.

So it had ever been, and so would ever be.

26

I
f not for the urgency of their errand, Bria would have enjoyed the journey to Dekra. The days wore the golden-green mantle of fair sum-mer; peace clothed the land and seemed to blossom from every bough. The dark deed of only a short time ago—a few days—receded into the past, more and more remote with every league.

Only the throbbing ache in her heart reminded her that all was not well, that her son had been taken from her, that her world would never be right until he was returned.

By day she rode with the others, keeping her spirits high—talking, singing, or steeping herself in the beauty of the day. By night she prayed; her prayers were not for herself, but for her son and her husband, that the Most High would keep them safe wherever they were. And sometimes in the night, when no one could see her, she wept.

The queen and her companions, though unused to the rigors of the road, were well looked after by Wilkins and the other two knights, and were made as comfortable as possible. And owing to the smoothness of the king's highway, they moved swiftly toward their destination.

“Today we will cross beyond Celbercor's Wall,” declared Alinea. Several leagues from their camp of the night before, though the sun was only a few hours up, they had stopped to eat some breakfast, and to let the princesses gather wildflowers.

“Have we come that far?” asked Esme with some surprise. “I thought the journey would be much longer.”

“Before the King's Road, yes. Quentin's work in extending the high-way has made travel to this part of the kingdom the easier and more quickly done. We may reach Dekra by evening tomorrow if we hurry,” said Alinea. She pointed to the east and south where the mountains lifted their heads to the clouds. “Celbercor's Wall runs from the sea into those hills of rock. Once beyond it, Dekra is only two days' ride.”

“Oh, then let us hurry, by all means,” cried Esme. “I have always wanted to visit Dekra. You have told me so much about it, I cannot wait to see it.”

“It is indeed a most remarkable place,” said Bria. She gazed into the distance as if she were looking for the sweeping towers of the city to rise above the horizon. “The Ariga were a noble and beautiful people. Theirs is a city like no other.”

“Yes, and much changed since I first saw it,” Alinea said, and began to tell them about the occasion of her first visit—the flight to Dekra in the dead of winter with Theido and Durwin, Quentin and Trenn; the wild midnight ride to the wall just ahead of the Harriers; Quentin's near-fatal tangle with the poisoned talons of a Harrier's hawk, and their anxious vigil over him as he lapsed into a deathlike sleep upon reaching the ancient ruined city; the extraordinary love and kindness of the Curatak who healed him.

When she finished, Esme's lovely features held a mesmerized look. “I have never heard the story before—oh, a piece of it here and there. But to hear it now like this . . .” She turned admiring eyes upon Alinea. “You were very brave, my lady. You and the others. It is a most remark-able tale. Now I want to see Dekra all the more.”

They rode on, following the road through wooded hills and pleasant lowlands, green and fragrant in the sun. Sometimes they met farmers leading ox-drawn carts, or other travelers—merchants on foot or in wagons, riders speeding on hurried errands to distant parts of the realm. But most often they had the road to themselves for long stretches.

Celbercor's Wall, that singular, enduring feat of strength and cunning, grew as they approached; first a line crossing the far hills, gray in the distance, with no more substance than a bank of low-lying clouds. Closer, it loomed high and strong, rising from the crown of hills with solid force, the sun shining full on its blank, stern face.

The road bent along the face of the wall toward the Malmar Inlet. The travelers rode down the long, wooded slope to the rocky shore of the inlet. There they stopped, watered the horses, and waited.

“How will the ferrymen know to come for us?” asked Esme.

“Watch,” replied Bria. One of the knights had made his way along the shore to a tall pine pole standing in a heap of stones. There he fastened a red pennon to a cord attached to the pole and raised the pen-non to the top, where it waved smartly in the breeze. “You see? We have only to wait a little. The ferrymen will see the signal and come at once.”

“Clever!”

“It was Quentin's idea. When he used to travel frequently between Askelon and Dekra, it was often difficult to find a boat on this side of the inlet. So he established the ferry, hoping, I think, that one day travel to Dekra would much increase.”

They sat on the warm rocks, listening to the calls of seabirds wheeling overhead and the lap of water murmuring to the rocks at their feet. In a little while they saw a wide, flat boat plying toward them across the water.

“Good day, my ladies,” greeted the ferryman when he had brought the boat into the narrow, rock-lined channel that had been cut into the shore. “A good day for travel. Going to Dekra, is it?” He eyed them each with good-natured curiosity.

“Yes, we are,” replied Alinea.

“Allow me to fetch you across first, if you please. Then I'll return for the coach and horses.”

“Thank you, Rol,” said Bria.

The man turned and looked at her carefully. “My lady? Do I . . . it is! I am sorry, Your Highness! I did not recognize you!” He bowed quickly, reddening with embarrassment.

“It has been some time,” laughed Bria. “And I am hardly dressed the part of a queen.”

“No, my lady.” Rol bobbed his head. He said no more, but went quickly to his work. In no time the passengers were sitting on the broad benches at the bow. Wilkins stayed behind with the animals and the coach.

Rol worked the long oar with his wide strong hands, and the ferry moved out slowly into the deeper channel, floating to meet the current that would carry them across the water.

At Malmarby their arrival was greeted by a score of barefoot children who had flocked to the docks to see the strangers. Travelers were still not so common an occurrence that they did not draw laughter from inquisitive youngsters, as well as amiable stares from their elders.

“I was deeply distressed to hear what happened to young Prince Gerin,” said Rol as he led them up a long, planked ramp.

“You have heard, then. Now you know why we ride to Dekra,” replied Bria.

“Everyone has heard, my lady. Some of us had gone to the hunt. I was there when . . . we know what you must feel. But the Dragon King will find the evil snakes that did this, I know.”

“We are praying for the prince every moment,” said Alinea.

“Yes, my lady,” said Rol. “Perhaps they can help at Dekra. There is much power there.”

“Thank you, Rol,” said Bria.

“If you would excuse me, my lady.” He bowed again and shoved the boat back into the inlet. In no time at all he was back with the coach and horses.

The queen and her entourage remounted and moved on. “I will be here when you return!” shouted Rol, who raised his arms and clapped his hands, shouting and scattering the children in front of him like chickens.

The travelers passed through Malmarby and entered the marshy low-lands beyond. The country in Obrey was wilder, more sparse and open. It changed at once from that on the other side of the inlet, becoming a more forbidding place so that the traveler might well feel he had left the hospitable world behind and entered a land untamed and unpredictable, where anything might happen.

“The coach can go no farther,” announced Wilkins. Little more than a league out of Malmarby, the track had all but vanished. Wilkins had just returned from surveying the trail ahead. “Even on horseback it will not be easy.”

“I had quite forgotten how wild this land is,” said Bria. “What do you advise?”

“Leave the coach,” the driver replied. “One of your bodyguards can ride one of the coach horses, and I the other. Alinea can take the knight's mount, and the princesses can ride with me.”

“Let me take one of them, at least,” offered Esme.

“And I the other,” said one of the knights.

His comrade dismounted and offered his saddle to Alinea, who accepted. “Thank you. It has been too long since I have ridden bare-back, and I do not think I could manage the feat now.”

Wilkins and the first knight began unhitching the horses, then rearranged the baggage, distributing the necessary items among the riders and abandoning the rest along with the coach, which they hid in a bower of young maple saplings and wild ivy. When they had finished, all were mounted once more, and they continued on their way happily, if more slowly.