Stephen Lawhead - In the Hall of the Dragon King

At last Durwin stood and shook his tired head. “Good friends! We must go to bed. We will talk some more tomorrow.”

“I must leave tomorrow,” said Quentin, having entirely forgotten his mission. He peered apprehensively into the faces of the two men who regarded him carefully.

“So soon?” replied Durwin. “I thought you would stay a little. I would like to show you what I have been doing since I left the temple.”

“And how will you be going?” Theido asked.

“My horse!” Quentin shrieked. He had also cleanly forgotten about his animal in the friendly interchange around the hermit’s table. He dashed to the door and heaved it open, peering outside into the frigid, black night. There was nothing to be seen of the horse. With a look of horror he turned to the men. “I have lost him!”

“Can you describe him?” asked Theido.

“He was a chestnut; the most beautiful horse I have ever seen. Now I have lost him.”

“Follow me,” Durwin commanded lightly. “I think we will find he has not wandered far.” The hermit turned and disappeared behind a standing partition lined with scrolls. Quentin ducked behind the partition and discovered that it concealed another room, the entrance of which was draped over with an immense bearskin. The room was dark and quiet, but warm and smelling strongly of hay and horses. Durwin carried a stubby candle and with it lit a pitch torch leaning in its holder on the wall. The sooty flame guttered and smoked furiously, then took hold and threw a steady light into the room.

This annex to the hermit’s lodge was a small cave. Durwin’s house had been built right up against the cave’s entrance, which explained the smooth stone floor of the hermit’s cottage. In the pale light of the torch Quentin could see his steed alongside two other slightly smaller animals, nose down in a heap of sweet fennel that had been thrown down for them. Relieved and somewhat embarrassed, Quentin thanked his host for his thoughtfulness.

“We guessed you were no true horseman,” remarked Theido good-naturedly, “when we saw him standing in the yard untethered. A lesser animal would have wandered off for good. Your horse is well-trained, and I surmise you are not his master.”

Quentin shook his head sadly. “He belongs to another-or did…”

“Enough! We will sleep now and talk of these things in the morning-which, unless I miss my guess, is soon upon us.”

IT HAD been decided, quite without Quentin’s opinion but not altogether against his approval, that Theido would accompany him on the remainder of his journey. This had been discussed over a cheerful breakfast of hot porridge and milk, with bread dipped in honey. Quentin ate with unusual alacrity, his high spirits charged by a renewed sense of adventure.

The two men had shown considerable surprise that Quentin had made it this far through the forest without incident. Theido had said, “Hereabouts, Pelgrin shelters outlaws of every description. Some there are who might set a high value on your horse,” he chuckled, and Durwin added, “And not so much on his rider.”

“They wouldn’t dare touch me,” Quentin announced carelessly, full of himself and his own high spirits. “I carry a letter for the Queen.”

At this news, the first bare hint of Quentin’s clandestine errand, both men nearly jumped from their seats. Quentin’s jaw snapped shut in alarm when he realized he had ruined his secret. “The Queen?” said Theido, recovering himself instantly. “What business might you have with the Queen, boy?” Now Quentin became guarded and secretive. “That is my affair, and none of yours,” he said a little angrily, though the anger was for his own carelessness and not his questioner.

“This letter might not be from the King?” Theido pursued.

“I’ll tell you no more about it, sir,” Quentin retorted.

Here Durwin interposed. “My boy, while it may not occur to you at once, my friend and I have known for some time that you were about an errand of some importance. Your horse, for example, is the mount of a champion, and not the nag of an acolyte. I’ll wager that your expulsion from the temple was due not to the willful breach of your sacred vows, but rather out of necessity to the task you have undertaken.” Durwin paused to regard Quentin carefully. Quentin colored somewhat under the hermit’s scrutiny and the sudden knowledge that he was so transparent. “I see that I have struck close to the mark.”

“Lad, you can trust us. We mean you no harm. I think you will find no two better men who would hold your secret as their own though their lives were forfeit.” Theido spoke quietly and with deep assurance. Quentin believed the tall stranger, but sat in sullen silence, not knowing whether to speak further or hold.

“You possess a strength of purpose and bravery enough for any two your size,” Durwin continued. “But there are events afoot against which bravery and strength alone are no match. I think Biorkis realized this and sent you to me, hoping I would guess the seriousness of your mission and help you if I could. Perhaps the god himself prompted you to spill your secret in our hearing just now, to save you from harm.”

“Is it so dangerous, then, for a subject to confer with his Queen?” Quentin asked sullenly.

Both men nodded in silence. Theido replied, “Seeing the Queen is but a trifle, providing you were able to obtain entrance to the castle alive. There are those who would keep her ignorant of outside affairs, the better to plant their own evil seeds.”

“Without our help you might never reach the Queen. Prince Jaspin would get you if an outlaw band did not.”

“Prince Jaspin?” Quentin wondered that he had never heard the name.

“Prince Jaspin,” Durwin explained, “is King Eskevar’s younger brother. He desires the throne of Askelon; he incites treason and treachery with increasing boldness. Honest men are afraid for their lands and lives if they dare stand against him. Many nobles have lost everything to Jaspin for refusing to join in his intrigues.”

Quentin turned all this shocking information over in his mind, but found himself at a loss to know what to do. He at last decided to trust the former priest and his unusual friend and share with them the rest of his secret.

“I am going to see the Queen,” he stated slowly, “to give her a message of importance. Two days ago a wounded knight came to the temple demanding our aid. He had been set upon by outlaws and was dying. I volunteered to take the message which was written in secret and sealed. It is his horse I ride, and this is his dagger.” Quentin drew back his cloak to reveal the knife’s gold handle.

“The knight-do you know his name?” Theido asked quickly.

“It was Ronsard.”

“Ronsard! You can be certain?”

“Yes, I saw everything. He said his name and asked for someone to take the message to the Queen. I volunteered.”

“Then you are even braver than we thought,” said Durwin.

“The message-it comes from the King, then,” said Theido. “Ronsard is one of his personal bodyguards; a knight unequaled in strength and valor.” He looked at Quentin sadly. “He is dead, you say?”

“Yes-that is,” Quentin hesitated, “I think so. I dared not wait to see the end, but he was very near death when I left.” Quentin fell silent remembering vividly the events that had brought him hither. He felt afraid and very alone. “I can trust you… you’ll not deceive me? I promised not to tell…”

Durwin rose from his seat and came around the table and placed his hand upon Quentin’s shoulder. “My son, you have done the Queen a great service by sharing your secret with us. Quite possibly you have rendered your King an even greater service. Ronsard, I think, would be no less pleased with this outcome if he had thought of it himself.”