Stephen Lawhead - The sword and the flame

The first raft nosed into the stony shingle, grating softly as it came to rest. The nearest men scrambled ashore and begun unloading the weapons and equipment, and then the others followed. The second raft pushed up behind the first, and those aboard made to disembark, but an overanxious departure by the first soldiers dangerously unbalanced the craft and the raft tipped, throwing the remaining passengers into the river with a tremendous splash.

Those on shore froze, hearts pounding, while their comrades swam to shore and dragged themselves out as quietly as possible. Each man held his breath and prayed that the sound would go unnoticed.

They waited.

From somewhere high up on the wall above them they heard a shout which was answered by another shout. The words were not distinguishable, but Theido guessed that one watchman had called to another to ask about the commotion. Then there came the sound of voices drifting down from above-someone was leaning over the battlements to see what had caused the splash.

Theido raised his hand to indicate that everyone remain as still as stone. For a dozen heartbeats he relived his adventure of the night before when he had nearly been discovered. Then there came a call; those below heard it plainly. “All clear,” the voice said. The men huddled below breathed a sigh of relief.

Theido signaled for the men to resume their work, and the rafts, unloaded now, were poled up river a little way and hidden among the brush of the bank where the shore flattened and the forest grew close to the water. The rest of the soldiers formed a human chain and began passing the equipment from hand to hand up the side of the cliff and into the mouth of the cave.

Sir Garth and Theido climbed to the cave and crawled inside. Garth produced a flint and steel and found one of the torches among the supplies being stacked at the entrance. In a moment he had the torch flaming brightly and said, “Now we will see what we are up against.”

Holding the torch high, he led Theido deeper into the cave. They passed along narrow walls-no wider than a gallery corridor-and came to the furthermost wall of the cave. Here an entrance had been opened and a tunnel cut into the soft rock. “Ages past, the river hollowed this cave. When the castle was built here, someone discovered it and connected it with this passage,” said Garth, pointing to the smooth-chiseled surface of the stone.

He lowered his head and stepped into the tunnel. Theido followed. It was narrow-narrower than the cave, with room enough for only one man to pass comfortably. The secret passage led upward and in a slight incline as it made for the castle above. The floor was dry and dusty for the most part, but as it neared the gate Theido noticed water seeping down the sides of the walls. Garth indicated this with his torch, saying, “We are passing beneath the castle cistern, no doubt.”

Presently they came to a place where the tunnel walls widened a span and there just ahead stood the iron portcullis, glimmering darkly in the torchlight.

“There it is,” said Garth, placing the torch in a sconce set into the stone at the edge of the gateway. “And now that I see it in the light, I see that it is much sturdier than I had first imagined.” He ran his hand over the iron, feeling its thickness and strength.

“Yes,” agreed Theido, “it is well made, as anyone might have guessed who knew Ameronis and his kin. And it looks in good repair.”

“Not a speck of rust, my lord.”

“The smiths have their work ahead of them. All the more reason to get them at it.”

“Right away, sir.” Garth turned and started back through the darkened tunnel.

“And, Garth,” said Theido, “have the weapons brought here. I would have them close to hand.” The knight left, and Theido returned to his scrutiny of the iron barrier before him. Could they cut through it in time? And once through, what would they find on the other side?

BRIA HAD risen long before daylight, and roused their bodyguard to begin readying the coach and horses for the day’s journey. In two days they had made good time through the soggy moorland between the low mountains of Dekra and Malmarby, and by night-fall had reached the place where they had abandoned the coach. There they made their camp for the night.

Upon leaving Dekra, there had settled over the Queen an unspoken urgency. With every step closer to Askelon she seemed to hear a plaintive voice. Hurry! Hurry, it whispered, before it is too late! And Bria, heedful of this inner urging, pressed the group to a greater speed.

Alinea, sensing this change in her daughter, had questioned her about it when they stopped the day before to eat along the trail. “What is it, dear? What is wrong?”

Bria confessed, her green eyes staring off toward Askelon, “Wrong? I cannot say. But I feel as if something is about to happen, and I must be there to help it or prevent it somehow, I know not which. But my heart tells me to hurry, and I feel we must pay it heed. We must not be slow, Mother.”

“Is it Gerin?”

Bria considered this in the way of a mother who knows when something is happening to her child though he be far away and removed from her sight. “No, it is not Gerin. I am at peace with him. It is more Quentin, I think.”

“Has it to do with Esme’s vision, then?”

“Yes, that must be it-at least in part. But what I am to make of that I hardly know. Still, I feel we must go with all haste and return to Askelon as soon as may be.”

Now, at the dawn of a new day, the feeling of urgency pressed Bria even more strongly, causing her to awaken and rouse the others so that they might break camp the quicker. The little Princesses, still yawning and rubbing sleepy eyes, splashed their faces with water and made a game of getting ready. Alinea herded them together and kept them out of the way of the men hitching up the coach. Bria flew to the task of repacking their sleeping bundles and helping the men stow the provisions on the coach once more.

Esme, for her part, helped too, if a little absently. Since leaving Dekra she had retreated more and more into herself-brooding, contemplative, and given to long periods of silence, her lovely features wrinkled in fierce scowls of concentration. What it was she was feeling inside or so fiercely thinking about which made her seem so sullen and aloof could not be determined. For when Bria attempted to draw her out, she simply replied, “I am a bit preoccupied. I am sorry; forgive me.” But following an attempt at rejoining the conversation of the others, she would slowly drift off into her intense reverie once more.

When at last they were ready to travel again, the sun peeped above the rim of mountains to the east-behind them. Esme turned and stared longingly in the direction of Dekra, then abruptly turned, mounted her horse, and fell in line behind the coach. By midmorning they reached Malmarby and, after greeting the entire village, arranged for Rol, the ferryman, to take them across the inlet to where the King’s Road awaited them beyond Celbercor’s Wall.

The coach was taken across first with the horses, and two of the bodyguard, whereupon Rol returned for the remaining passengers. Esme took a seat alone at the bow of the wide boat and turned to face outward, staring across the water. Malmar Inlet flowed deep and dark, its waters silent and clear. As Esme stared down she felt herself drifting off, floating on the water as it stretched its mirrored surface to the great wall rising out of its depths on the far shore.

The wall, she thought. There is something about the wall, but what? As she sat gazing at it the wall seemed to change, rising higher and higher, stretching across the entire realm, extending its mighty length until it encircled all Mensandor with a smooth, seamless face of black stone. And it grew ever higher and higher, blotting out the sun.