Stephen Lawhead - The sword and the flame

“Agreed.” Gerin nodded resolutely, and Toli knew he would do as he was told.

When they reached the entrance hall of the temple, the great doors were thrown open and the prisoners were led out onto the steps of the temple. Before them on the flagging of the temple yard stood the great altar which had been moved from its place in the temple near the sacred stone and established at the foot of the steps in full sight of the onlookers now crowding into the space within the walls.

People from as far away as Hinsenby, Persch, and Woodsend, and not a few from Askelon, streamed into the yard, jostling for a place to stand, for word had gone out that the Prince was held in the High Temple and that the King would seek to ransom him there. And as many as could travel quickly on horse or on foot came to see their king humbled and the temple exalted and its supremacy reasserted. For though they loved their King, they feared their god more. The simple people believed that the Dragon King had angered the god Ariel of the High Temple by commissioning a new temple to be built to a strange new god; and for this the King, though King he was, must be punished.

Many, to look at them, had walked all night; their clothing was still wet from the rain they had endured to be present at the moment the King laid his enchanted sword aside. They waited reverently, whispering behind their hands to their neighbors, while others talked openly, laughing and joking about what was soon to take place.

But at the moment when the temple doors opened and the prisoners were led out to stand on the steps before the altar, a hush spread over the throng, and the people stared expectantly as the captives’ wrists were bound with braided rope.

Overhead the sky glowered down with dark menace, threatening more rain at any moment. The sun could not be seen at all, and its absence cast a heavy gloom over the scene in the temple yard. Thunder rippled in the Fiskills far off, growling ominously, like a hungry beast stalking its prey.

Toli and Gerin stood side by side on the temple steps surrounded by armed guards in scarlet cassocks. Below them, near the altar, stood the High Priest and the white-haired, white-bearded Nimrood, his long black robes wrapped around him like a cloak of darkness.

“Make way for the Queen!” called a voice. The populace shifted, and a pathway opened in the mass of people crowded to the very steps of the temple. Through this avenue came the Queen, followed by Lady Esme and the dowager Alinea, with Princesses Brianna and Elena between them. With them were the knights who had accompanied them as their bodyguard. All came to stand before the High Priest,

“Release my son!” demanded Bria. “For the good of the realm and the people of Mensandor, release him now.” Relief and anger roiled inside her, making her voice quaver: relief at seeing her son at last, safe and sound; anger at what he had been made to suffer.

High Priest Pluell threw up his hands and looked at her fearfully. “You do not know what you ask, woman. Stand aside.”

“If you will not release him, allow me to take his place.”

Pluell’s eyes darted toward Nimrood. The Queen saw the look and turned toward the wizard. “I see that it is you who I must appeal to. Allow me to take the place of my son if you will not release him.”

“I am not inclined to accept a bargain at this late hour. Stand aside and watch with the others.”

“Sir!” said Bria, starting forward. The guards snapped to attention and lowered their lances toward her; others leveled swords at the Prince and Toli. Instantly the swords of the knights came whistling from their sheaths and met the lances of the guards. “No!” shouted Bria. “I will wait if I must. I will not be the cause of bloodshed this dark day.”

Fearing for the safety of her son if she pressed her demand, she withdrew with the other women to stand off to the side. Afraid of what was to come, she asked one of the knights to take the Princesses to the carriage and sit with them there. Temple guards were placed with crossed lances before them, ensuring that there would be no further interference from that quarter. The women joined hands together and bowed their heads silently.

“It is time,” said Nimrood. “The King is not coming.”

High Priest Pluell turned his eyes to the sky and said, “No, it is not time yet. It is not yet midday. You said we would wait until midday.”

Nimrood drew breath and seemed about to protest, but held his tongue and instead said, “As you will, priest. We will wait yet a little longer. I am not so anxious that I cannot savor the waiting.”

The yard fell silent all around. Not even the wind stirred the leaves of the trees lining the wall-trees into whose branches the curious had climbed to better see what would take place.

They waited.

Toli glanced down at Prince Gerin, standing beside him. He nodded as if to say, “Courage; he will come.” The boy returned it with one of his own which replied, “I know, and I am not afraid.”

The clouds rolled overhead, angry and swollen, hard and black as smoked amber, flying away on swift storm wings. An unnatural twilight descended over the temple yard, as if the sun had withdrawn and refused to shed its warmth and light on the proceedings.

Still, they waited.

At last Nimrood could stand it no longer. “There is no more time. It is midday, and the King is not here. He is not coming. Bring the prisoners.”

The guards looked at one another and hesitated.

“Bring them!” shouted Nimrood, his voice shrill. The High Priest, shaking visibly now, nodded and turned his face away. The guards thrust the captives down the steps with their weapons.

Toli started forward, lifted his foot, and then stumbled, rolling down the steps. “Run!” he shouted to the Prince as he went down. Young Gerin leaped down the steps and dashed forward into the crowd.

“Stop him!” roared Nimrood. “Bring him back!”

Before the knights standing with the Queen could lift a hand, one of the temple guards whirled around and seized the Prince by the nape of the neck, hauling the kicking lad off his feet.

“Gerin!” cried the Queen. “Gerin!” She struggled forward, thrusting out her hands in a desperate attempt to reach him, but was stopped by the lance of the remaining guard. “My son!”

Toli was hauled to his feet and shoved forward. “A very clumsy effort for a nimble Jher,” clucked Nimrood. “For your trouble you will be allowed to witness the sacrifice of the boy. I had planned it the other way around.”

With that, Nimrood swooped down and lifted the lad onto the altar, where he fought to free himself. One guard held his feet and another pulled his bound hands over his head. Toli shouted and dove toward the altar, but the guards around him grabbed his arms and held him fast.

“No!” shrieked the boy’s mother, her features twisted in horror. Esme threw her arms around the Queen and held her tightly.

“The knife,” said Nimrood to the High Priest. “Take up your dagger.”

“DAGGER?” HIGH Priest Pluell’s face blanched even whiter than before. He patted his robes absently. “I seem to have misplaced my dagger. I do not have it with me.”

Nimrood smiled maliciously. “I thought you might have forgotten yours-conveniently, too, I might add. So I brought my own.” He withdrew a long thin poniard from beneath his robe and, taking the High Priest’s hand, placed the knife in it. “Now then, High Priest. Do your duty!”

Pluell, eyes glazed and the sweat of fear glistening slick on his brow, turned a stricken countenance upon the Queen, whose face was hidden in her hands, and upon his evil accomplice, who smiled thinly and nodded. “Do it!” Nimrood croaked, his eyes sparkling with glee.