The Sword and the Flame (8 page)

He spurred his steed forward, heedless of the branches reaching out for him. There was another shout, closer this time.

Durwin threw the reins to the side, and the horse careered through the undergrowth. Nettles tore at his legs. He ducked branches and urged the horse to greater speed. He caught a fleeting glimpse of a horse rearing and dark shapes like shadows darting through the wood.

The next instant he was through the trees and pounding into a wider place in the trail. There before him he saw Toli and Prince Gerin on horseback, with three men in dark clothing around them. The men had short swords and were circling the riders, trying to get at them. Only Riv's flashing hooves kept these assailants at bay.

Without thinking, Durwin loosed a shout and dashed forward. The men heard the whoop and turned to see a new threat bearing down on them. The circle broke as one of the foe turned to meet the hermit.

Before the man could raise his sword, Toli whirled Riv, and the warhorse's shoulder knocked him to the ground. He yelled as he went down; his two companions bolted and ran, melding back into the forest.

The man on the ground looked up, fear twisting his begrimed features. He was bleeding from a cut lip. He spat once and then lunged between the horses, gaining his feet as he made for the trail's edge. He dived into the brake and was gone.

“Who were they?” asked Durwin. He felt his heart racing in his chest.

“I do not know,” answered Toli. “We merely stopped here to choose a direction—they were on us in an instant.”

“Are you sound, young master?” the hermit asked.

Prince Gerin nodded slowly; his eyes showed white all around.

“What do you think they wanted?”

Toli squinted his eyes in the direction of the fleeing assailants. “That I mean to find out.” He glanced from the prince to Durwin quickly. “Stay with Durwin, young sir. He will look after you. I will be but a moment.”

The prince seemed about to protest, but shut his mouth and obeyed.

“Be careful, Toli. You have no weapons.”

“Return to the field at once,” ordered Toli. “I will meet you there directly.”With that he urged Riv forward into the undergrowth after the mysterious men.

9

S
ome wickedness is afoot,” said Durwin quietly. “I feel it. There is evil close about.”

Prince Gerin peered at the hermit closely. The boy set his jaw and stared ahead grimly. The act reminded Durwin of another who had faced trouble with the same silent resolve. How very like his father the young prince was.

They were riding back along the trail—the way Toli and the prince had come—when Durwin put out a hand and they stopped. “Listen!” he hissed. Both cocked their heads to one side. They heard a rustle in the bushes behind them along the path.

“Perhaps Toli is returning,” offered the prince.

Durwin felt the darkness around him increase. He could almost see it as a presence, feel its desperate strength. It occurred to him that he had encountered such a malignant force before, and in exactly the same way—a long time ago.

“We must run for it!” he whispered harshly. Gerin acted quickly and without question. With a snap of the reins, the two horses leaped away. They charged along the winding forest path toward the safety of the open plain. They had not run far before they met two men in the path ahead, wearing the same dark clothing as the others they had encountered. The men waved swords in front of the horses and shouted fiercely. The horses stopped and turned. Durwin pulled his mount around, and Gerin did the same, but as they made to retreat, two more ruffians stepped out onto the path behind them.

“There!” cried Durwin, pointing into the brush. He hesitated and allowed the prince to flash past and then darted after him.

But the pony became entangled in the undergrowth and went down. Prince Gerin yelped as he was pitched over his mount's head to the ground, where he landed with a grunt.

“Hurry!” shouted Durwin. “Get back in the saddle! Hurry!”

The boy leaped back to his feet and grabbed at the dangling saddle even before the animal had regained its legs. “Ride!” shouted Durwin. “Ride!”

The hermit glanced down and saw hands reaching out for him. He slashed down with the reins and heard someone curse. He spurred his mount after the fleeing prince, but felt his arm caught and held. The horse jerked away, and Durwin was hauled from the saddle, struggling as he fell.

He landed on his back at the edge of the trail; there was a flash in the shadow, and he heard the air sing above his head. He squirmed and rolled to his knees and felt a sharp sting in his side. As he half-turned and threw himself backward toward the trail, he heard the rush of air through clenched teeth and saw the glancing light arc toward him. The blow caught him low in the back; his knees buckled, and he toppled onto the trail.

Durwin put his hand to his side and felt the warm wetness seeping through his clothes. When he brought his hand away, he saw it dripping red in the dimness of the forest. The wound burned now; flames spread through him from the throbbing pain just below the ribs. He tried to raise himself, but fell back—legs numb and unfeeling.

There was a quick movement beside him, a shout in the forest a little way off, and the thrashing of branches. He heard another shout farther away and then silence.

Time gathered itself into a ball, slowed, and hovered without moving. Durwin's mind raced. He had been struck down by an unseen sword. Instead of finishing him, the attackers had gone after Prince Gerin. He must alert Toli, but how? He tried to call out, but the effort brought a flash of white-hot pain to his side. He coughed and spat. His spittle was flecked with blood.

The wound is bad,
he told himself,
but no matter.
He lay back, panting.
Toli must be summoned.
The holy hermit of Pelgrin Forest closed his eyes and began to pray.

“God Most High, hear your servant in his time of need. Guide Toli here to save us. Bring him quickly before it is too late. Keep the prince safe, I pray. Keep him safe . . .”

Dark mist rolled over him, engulfing him, and slowly his lips stopped moving. He lay back in the soft, mossy turf of the forest path-way, an ugly red stain spreading slowly beneath him.

Quentin had reached the edge of Pelgrin and started back across the plain when he hesitated. Was that a cry he heard? He stopped rock still.

The air was calm and warm; light breezes waited idly, lifting the leaves and blades of grass around him. Nearby a skylark warbled a song to the sun.

But to Quentin it was as if the heavens had dimmed for an instant, as if a cloud had passed before the sun, blotting out its face for a brief moment. Then all was as before, except the king's senses pricked and tingled to an unknown danger.

At once he turned Blazer back into the forest, sending his thoughts ahead to sift the wind for direction. He struck along a southerly path, sensing that the cry he imagined had come from that direction. The boles of trees, bands of light and shadow, blurred as Quentin flew along this dim corridor of Pelgrin. His heart thumped in his chest, and he urged Blazer onward ever faster, choosing his course on instinct alone.

Upon reaching a small clearing, he halted. A bundle lay ahead on the trail. Was that a body?

Quentin slid from the saddle and hurried forward. He knelt down and rolled the body into his arms.

“Durwin!”

The hermit's face had gone as gray as ashes. His eyelids flickered, and he focused cloudy eyes on his friend. “Ah, Quentin . . .”

“What has happened? Who has done this to you?”

“The prince . . . your son. They have taken him . . .”

“Who? Here, let me help you—”

“No, no. Leave me. Find your son. They went through there.” He nodded his head weakly.

“How many?”

“Three or four. I did not see them clearly. Maybe more. Toli—ah!” Pain twisted his features; his limbs convulsed and then relaxed.

“Easy,” soothed Quentin. “We will find them. Rest now.” He struggled to remain calm.

“Yes, I will rest.” The hermit's voice was thin, but his eyes looked deeply into Quentin's. “We have traveled far together, eh?” He coughed, and his eyes squeezed shut.

“Yes, and we have many roads yet to ride.” Quentin held him tightly.

“You will ride them alone, I think. But I am content—I am not afraid to die.”

“You are not dying!” Quentin shouted desperately. Tears rose in his throat. “You will survive. Help is coming.”

“I fear it will come too late.” He gazed at Quentin again. “Do not blame Toli. It is not his fault.”

“I do not understand,” Quentin said.

“Be strong, Quentin. Remember, you are the king. You must lead your kingdom. This will be your sorest test, your darkest day.”

“No!” Quentin could see his friend was slipping away. “You will never die!”

“So it is! The spirit never dies . . . never. We will meet again, fair friend. I will wait for you. No pain, no fear . . .”

“Do not leave me!” cried Quentin.

A slight tremor passed through the hermit's body, and then he lay still. His breath whispered away in a sigh. Durwin was dead.

10

F
ools! Imbeciles!” Nimrood raged. “What have you done?” He whirled around the circle, thrusting a crooked finger into the grim faces before him. “You will pay for this with your lives.”

“We only did as you told us,” said the leader of the temple guards. “How were we to know he would leave the prince? They were together.”

“Silence! Let me think!” He stopped to glare down at Prince Gerin, who stared back defiantly. “I send you out to strike down a man, and you bring me a boy.”

“He's the prince, I say!” maintained the man.

“Is this true?” asked Nimrood. His eyes bored into the lad. “What is your name?”

“Gerin,” he replied steadily. “Who are you?”

“Impudent cub!” The old man reached out and cuffed the boy, leaving a red welt on his cheek.

“My father will deal with you,” said the prince. “Let me go.”

“No,” said Nimrood slowly as an idea took shape in his mind. “Here is an opportunity I can turn to advantage.” He smiled cannily. “Oh, yes indeed.” He chuckled to himself and then snapped, “Bring him!”

They started off on foot, threading deeper into the forest. Two big men shoved the prince forward. When he fell on hands and knees, they hauled him up by his collar and shoved him forward again. Another guard seized Tarky's reins and led the animal away.

“You two!” Nimrood said, pointing to the two behind. “Stay well to the rear of us. If anyone comes after, put them off the trail. Do you hear?”

The two men looked worriedly at each other, but nodded and dropped behind. Soon Nimrood, the prince, and the others were lost in the dense growth of forest. The two guards watched their comrades dis-appear. One muttered to the other, “I do not like this fool business. Not a whit, by Ariel! We are guards of the temple, but he has made us highwaymen and kidnappers!”

“I did not hear your voice oppose him,” the other replied nastily. “We are in it now and have no choice but to see it through.”

“Aye, but where is it going to lead in the end? That is what I want to know. There is death here—mark my words. Death. This will be the undoing of the temple.”

“Silence! There is enough to worry about as it is. If we are to get out of this with our skins, we need to keep sharp and stop mewling like sick cats.”

“He has taken the prince! By Ariel—”

“Shut up! We are in this as deep as he. No sense in yammering on about it. Come on, let's be about our business.”

The two walked off in the direction the others had gone, listening nervously to the forest sounds, hoping against hope that no one would come after them.

Toli entered the trail and proceeded to the clearing. Before he even saw the huddled forms upon the ground, he knew something was very wrong. His heart jerked within him, quickening to the terrible apprehension that overpowered him.