In the Hall of the Dragon King (11 page)

“Your Majesty,” he said, bowing from the waist, “I am honored to have you in this humble house.”

“Your kindness is appreciated,” she said, sliding into the offered chair. “But from now on I am only Alinea—I have put off my crown and am no queen until my king returns to claim his throne and so redeems my own. So please, good hermit, make no fuss for my sake.”

“As you wish, Alinea,” replied Durwin smoothly. He had a gift for meeting people high or low and making them feel honored and welcome in his presence. Quentin had felt it from the first. “Now no more talking until we have all broken fast together.”

Prince Jaspin stormed red-eyed through the corridors of the ancient castle. He had not slept the night and had just been informed that the queen was abed with an illness and would see no one, nor receive messages. His opportunity to question her was foiled. The foul prince was furious.

During the night he had sent word to as many of his nobles as were within reach to meet at midday to hear a plan he had been contemplating for some time. His anger at losing his prisoner had caused him to implement this new scheme without further delay.

He strode into the council chambers, his sharp face flushed with anger and exhaustion. Various knights and nobles, more than a score altogether, stood beneath their banners and standards awaiting his arrival. Many showed signs of having ridden hard and long to get there at the appointed time.

“My esteemed lords, please be seated. We have much to discuss.” All bowed to him as he waved them to chairs at a long table. He indicated a chair at his right for Sir Bran and one at his left for the brawny Sir Grenett. Nearby sat a noble with sly, narrow eyes and a puckered, pouting mouth, a man of vast holdings and extraordinary wealth who was determined to be the new king's chief minister. His name was Ontescue, a name not well liked by the helots who worked his lands and bore the brunt of his expensive ambitions.

“My lord, you are looking ill-possessed this morning. Your sleep was not troubled, I hope.” He had guessed the prince was looking for an opportunity to launch into a retelling of his latest agitation. He wanted to provide a ready ear.

“It is true; I have had no sleep this night past. But that is a matter for another time.” The prince dismissed his chance to confide his troubles, pressing on to a subject of more immediate import. “Gentlemen all,” he called, “your presence gratifies me. As we all know too well, our kingdom has been for some time without a king, being governed in his absence by the Council of Regents. I have uncovered evidence that certain nobles of that body have been aiding the outlaws in their campaign of robbery and defiance throughout the forests of this land.

“Only yesterday my men arrested the prince of these outlaws—I had him secured within these walls until he should speak out against those of his band and other outlaw leaders with whom he is intimately acquainted.

“My aim is to rid the wood and hills of these preying wolves, and so give back the roads to the people and to commerce. However, before I could myself set eyes upon this bandit leader, he was sprung to freedom by companions high in rank and title. I have not apprehended the men who loosed this villain, but I know now who put them up to it.” He paused, and all eyes and ears were his. “Lord Weldon and Lord Larcott!”

At once a cry rang out. “It cannot be!” Lord Larcott, slamming his fist upon the table, was on his feet, protesting his innocence. Lord Weldon sat stunned in his chair. The other knights and nobles drowned Larcott's cries with their own demands for justice.

Prince Jaspin held up a hand and ordered silence. “You, as noble lords of this kingdom, will have your chance to answer the charges brought against you. For now, and until such time as your crimes shall be heard, you will deliver yourselves to the tower to be there confined.” With a nod of his head, Prince Jaspin signaled four armed guards to escort the Lords Weldon and Larcott to the dungeon. The furor continued along the meeting table as the two unlucky men were seized where they sat and marched out under the rough handling of the guards.

Lord Larcott could be heard screaming, “By Zoar, you'll pay for this outrage! I'll see your head black on the spike!” Lord Weldon went quietly with a look of deepest grief and unrelenting sorrow upon his gray face. Those who saw his look quickly glanced away; his eyes seemed to burn into the soul of any who accused him.

When they had gone and order was restored, Prince Jaspin rushed to the heart of his plan: filling the two newly vacant chairs on the Council of Regents. “Noble men, as you are aware, the people grow daily more dependent upon strong leadership to maintain order in the land. I propose we now elect two new members to the council, and do so without delay.”

“Hear! Hear!” the nobles in Jaspin's sway shouted, delighted with such a display of efficient and farsighted leadership. When once more the din had died, a figure stood at his place at the table. “I cannot accede to such a move,” said Lord Holben, a knight of no small renown. He was Larcott's friend and one who had been chosen by King Eskevar to sit at council. “For to elect new members to this council would be to declare the guilt of the previous members. There have been no writs of justice presented and no decrees posted. As it involves nobility, this is a high matter and as such can only be judged by the king himself upon his return.” With that Lord Holben sat down.

“He is right,” said some. Others objected. “It cannot wait!” The chamber once again rang with the shouts of contending voices until Ontescue held up his hands and succeeded in reducing the tumult to silence.

“Surely the prince has only the best interests of the realm at heart. Therefore, I will abide by Prince Jaspin's decision in this matter,” said Ontescue. He nodded with a sly smile toward the prince.

“I defer as well,” said Sir Bran. He was aided in his opinion by Sir Grenett, who then scowled down the length of the table, daring any to defy him. Most, willingly or with reluctance, came at length to their side, opposed only by Lord Holben and several of his neighbors who cared not for Jaspin.

“I maintain the king's justice in this matter. No further moves may be taken against those charged with this crime,” Holben declared. “Here it rests until the king shall return.”

“Very well,” snapped Jaspin irritably. “The matter shall go no further at present. However, it is equally a breach of the king's law to leave an empty chair at the Council of Regents. Two members must fill those vacancies. Since we are all assembled here now, I see no reason we should not proceed to elect new regents.”

Lord Holben started to his feet to make some objection but was shouted down by Jaspin's minions.

“Very well,” continued Jaspin. “Since it pleases this body, I propose to put forth the names of Sir Bran and Sir Grenett for your commendation.”

“I commend them,” said Ontescue. His words were echoed time and again as the vote proceeded around the table, man by man. Nearly everyone commended the prince's choice heartily; only a few from Lord Holben's party abstained. Only Lord Holben himself dared to go against the vote.

“Sir Grenett and Sir Bran”—Prince Jaspin beamed—“you are now regents of the realm. You will be sworn to your office within the fortnight, as is required by king's law,” he said snidely, bowing to Holben, who clenched his fists in his lap. “How say you, bold knights? Do you accept this charge placed upon you by your peers?”

“We do,” they answered.

Just then there was a commotion in the hall. Amid angry vows, fierce gestures, and dark, threatening looks, Lord Holben and his party stalked out of the council chamber in a great show of protest. The smile that had only moments before curled the corners of Prince Jaspin's fleshy lips now faded slowly.

Other nobles and knights now took their leave and began filing out of the chamber, attended by their pages and standard bearers, each with the banner and device of his lord. Prince Jaspin rose and called Ontescue to him. “Some of the voices were not loud enough in their approval of my new regents. Go to them and smooth any uncertainty with whatever means seems best to you. I will have these men, as many as can be won with favors, on my side.”

“Of course, my lord. You, as always, know what is best. Your cause shall not suffer for want of generosity at my hands. I will bring them around,” the would-be chancellor declared. Already his shrewd eyes were stealing after the nobles as he calculated the price of fealty for one and then another.

“Good,” said the prince. “Have I told you that I am considering giving you Crandall? No? 'Tis true. It only needs a slight demonstration of your loyalty to secure that estate—one of the largest in the realm, I am told.”

“I am flattered, my lord.”

“Go now and bring me word of your success as soon as may be. Other matters now beg my attention. Go.”

Ontescue hurried after the departing lords, engaging each one in private conversation and pressing upon them promises, gold, and royal pledges of the prince's undying loyalty to them, greasing the machinery of state with warm words and lofty indulgences.

Prince Jaspin hurried out of the council room by a side door and went directly to his apartment, where five men waited in his anteroom.

“The knaves! The fools!” he fumed as he bustled along. “They will see how Jaspin deals with troublemakers! Ah, but first to loose the Harriers upon that blasted Hawk and his miserable friends.”

12

T
he need is great—already it may be too late. If there were another way, or a lesser cost, I would not insist. But there—the choice is mine, and I say we must go to Dekra.” The voice was Durwin's, and from what Quentin could tell, the discussion, which had started again as soon as the breakfast table had been cleared, was a continuation of the one he had interrupted earlier. He lazed in a patch of warm sunlight, half awake, sitting on the floor under a thick-glazed window that the low winter sun filled with streaming yellow light. Quentin basked in the light and let the warmth seep into his bones.

“No,” said Theido, objecting once again—and with, what seemed to Quentin, a god's own obstinance. “We will find another way. We have time yet, and we do not know what Jaspin plans.”

“Precisely! We do not know what Jaspin plans, but it is certain to be nasty and cruel. Most likely his malice is already afoot. But what of that? He only wants a crown. Nimrood will not be so easily satisfied—he wants a world! We
must
go to Dekra.”

Who or what Dekra was, Quentin did not know. But the conversation had been going on so long he had lost interest in it and had retreated into the background to doze. The queen still sat at the table with the two men, but it had been a long time since she had had occasion to speak. Quentin knew that nothing would be settled until this impasse between the two men was resolved.

Presently he stood up, yawned, and wrapped his cloak around himself and slipped quietly outside. The cold air tingled in his lungs, and the piercing white light thrown up by the sun's reflection upon the snow brought tears to his eyes, which he rubbed away with the back of his hand. For the first time since leaving the temple, Quentin wondered what the kindly and plump Biorkis, his only friend among the priests, was doing at this moment. Working among his medicines, no doubt, or blistering the ears of some poor acolyte over letters unlearned or scrolls unread.

Quentin heard the door creak open and turned to see Alinea slip out beside him. She was as lovely dressed in the attire of a ranger as in the fine raiment of a queen. Her hair gleamed in the sun, and the cold brought a rosy blush to her fair cheeks.

“Do you miss the temple, Quentin?” she asked lightly. Alinea regarded him with a warmth and understanding Quentin had only rarely felt from another person.

“In a way,” he replied, “but not so much. I have had but little time to miss anything.”

“Yes,” she laughed, and once again, the music was in her voice. He had not heard it since he had given her Ronsard's message at their first meeting. “Yes, there has been little time for anything but escape.” She smiled and, drawing Quentin by the arm, began to walk. “Tell me about what you did in the temple. How did you come to be an acolyte?”

“I was very young. My parents were lost in the sleeping plague that swept over the land in the Spring of Death. I don't remember them or much about my home. I see a face sometimes—it might be my mother's. Mostly, I have always lived at the temple.”

“Why did you volunteer to leave it, then, since you have no other home?”

“I felt . . .” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “. . . felt something was pulling me. Like I was
supposed
to go . . . It was right for me. I have never felt that way about anything before.”

“It must have been a very strong feeling for you to forsake all that you had known—your home, your friends.”

“I have no friends in the temple. Only Biorkis, one of the elder priests.”

“Was it lonely for you?”

Quentin could not think how to answer her at first. “No—that is, I don't think so. The temple is . . . The priests exist to serve the god. Acolytes serve the priests. There are rules and tasks. That is all.”

The queen nodded thoughtfully. Quentin had not been lonely because he had known nothing but the rigorous order of the temple, where each had his place and his task. “What would you be doing now if you were there?” she asked after a long silence.

“Oh, studying. I had much to learn—more than I could master, sometimes. And soon we would begin making ready to receive the god back from his winter journey. He will come in the spring as he always does, and the temple must be ready. Rites of purification must be performed: the sacred stones washed and anointed. There is much to do.”

“I believe you.”

“But then,” Quentin continued, his eyes kindling with excitement as he warmed to the story, “when everything is ready, the god comes, and there is celebration—it goes on for weeks. There are feasts and games and so much happiness. The temple is opened to the pilgrims who have gathered outside the walls, and all join in the celebration.”