Stephen Lawhead - Dragon King 02 - The Warlords of Nin

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2024-12-04 1 0 776.74KB 324 页 5.9玖币
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19-06-03 - v2.0 - spell corrections - billbo196
THE
WARLORDS OF NIN
By
Stephen Lawhead
ONE
QUENTIN STOOD at the high parapet overlooking the tranquil forest.
His eyes scanned the gently lifting hills clothed in their greens of early
summer, all softened in the golden afternoon light by the gathering mists
of evening. At his hand upon the cool stone balustrade a thin parchment
roll fluttered in the easy breeze. At his feet lay a leather case from which
he had drawn the scroll to read only moments before. The case bore the
royal insignia he knew so well: the terrible, twisting red dragon of the
Dragon King.
The warmth of the later afternoon sun splashed full on his face, and yet
Quentin felt a chill creeping through him. He sighed a heavy sigh and
hung his head, shaking it slowly from side to side. Hearing a rustle behind
him and the brushing tread of a soft foot on the stone, he turned to see Toli
gliding up.
The tall young man settled himself easily on the edge of the parapet and
crossed his arms over his chest. He regarded Quentin with a quizzical
brown eye and breathed the clean, fresh air deep into his lungs. “Listen,”
he said, holding his head to one side. “It is the sound of the earth at
peace.”
Quentin listened and heard the faraway chirp of birds as they flittered
among the whittle berries, the breeze nudging the leaves, voices
murmuring in a courtyard somewhere below.
“They told me a rider from Askelon had arrived with a message for you.
I thought to come and see if my master required anything.”
Quentin looked at his friend and smiled. “You mean curiosity moved
you from your beloved stables. Yes, a message from the King.” He picked
up the parchment and handed it to Toli, who began to read.
Presently Toli’s head came up, and his eyes found Quentin’s studying
him. “This does not say what the trouble is.”
“No, but it is not a request for a friendly visit. There is some need
behind it, and some urgency. If it were but a small thing Eskevar would
have waited. We’re due to travel back to Askelon in a few weeks
anyway....”
“And this recommends that we leave right away. Yes, I see. But there is
something else?” Toli’s sharp eyes appraised Quentin, who stiffened and
turned away from their piercing gaze.
“What makes you say that?”
Toli laughed softly. “Only that I know my Kenta very well. You would
not look so if you had not a suspicion of what lay behind this innocent
summons.”
“Innocent?” He fingered the leather case that he had stooped to retrieve.
“But you’re right, Toli. I am afraid a little. Something came over me as I
read that message—a feeling of deep sadness, of loss....”
Toli watched Quentin closely and waited for him to continue.
“I’m afraid that if we go to Askelon now, we will never come back to
Dekra again.”
“You saw this?”
Quentin only shook his head.
“Well, then it may not be. Your feelings may only be a warning of what
may come if we do not go at once.”
Quentin smiled again; this time a flicker of relief shone in his eyes.
“Yes, perhaps you are right. As usual the servant has rescued his master
from himself.
“We can leave tonight. It will be good to sleep on the trail again. We
have not done that in a long time, you and I.”
“We shall, but not tonight. Have you forgotten that tonight we dine with
Yeseph? If I am not mistaken, we have only enough time to prepare
ourselves and go to his house. He will be waiting.”
“We will leave at dawn instead,” said Quentin.
“So be it,” said Toli, inclining his head in a slight bow. “I will see to our
preparations when we have supped with Yeseph and the Elders.”
Quentin nodded and took the rolled parchment which Toli offered him,
then slid it back into its case as they turned and walked back into
Quentin’s rooms.
The two dressed themselves in their finest woolen mantles and stuffed
their feet into fine leather boots and set off for Yeseph’s humble lodgings.
Yeseph lived in a quarter of the ruined city near the library. As they
walked along together, Quentin looked upon the home he had come to
love. His eyes, long ago accustomed to the tumbled structures that still met
his gaze on every side, seemed not to notice the destruction, but instead
saw it all the way it had been in the time of the mighty Ariga.
In his mind he saw stones lifted back into place one upon another;
arches reconstructed with their colorful tiles, and beautifully carved doors
thrown wide in welcome; courtyards once again abloom with flowering
plants; streets echoing with laughter and song. He saw it all as he
imagined it had been. Quentin always experienced the same magical
sensation when he moved about the city. In the ten years he had lived in
Dekra, he never lost the rapture it held for him, or the feeling that he
belonged there, that Dekra was his home as was none other he would ever
find.
“It will be once again,” said Toli as they moved along the quiet streets,
over stones worn smooth with time.
“What will be?” asked Quentin absently.
“This city. It will be again what it once was: the way you see it in your
head.”
“Do you think so?”
“Don’t you?”
“I believe that it will. I want to believe it. Though it seems sometimes
that the work goes so slowly. There is so much to be done. We could use
more hands.”
“But look how much has been accomplished since we came here. And
every year our numbers grow. Whist Orren blesses our efforts with his
own.”
It was true. The work of restoring the ancient city and populating it with
people who shared the dream of rebuilding it to its former glory, of
studying the ways of the Ariga and their god—that was going on at a fine
pace. Much had been done in ten years’ time.
The work of a lifetime, however, still remained. And that was what
pricked Quentin’s impatience.
They met Quentin’s stooped old teacher where he stood waiting for
them at the gate of his courtyard. His face beamed when he saw the two
young men striding up. “Hello! Hello, my friends!” cried Yeseph, running
out to meet them. “I have been waiting for you. You are the first to arrive.
I was hoping that would be the case. I wanted to talk to you both.”
He drew them into the shady courtyard and led them to stone benches
under a spreading tree. The yard was spotless and furnished as nicely as
any garden could be whose owner loved plants and flowering things.
“Sit down, please. Sit. Omani!” Yeseph clapped his hands when his
guests had seated themselves beneath the tree. A slim young girl appeared
with a tray of wooden goblets and a stone carafe. She floated forward with
an easy grace and laid the tray at Yeseph’s elbow where he sat. “You may
pour, bright one,” he said gently.
The girl poured and served the beverages around. She turned to leave
and Yeseph called after her, “See that the meal is prepared when the others
arrive, it will not be long now, I think.” She bowed and retreated into the
house, smiling all the while.
The Curatak did not have servants. But often young girls or boys would
attach themselves to the households of older Curatak leaders or craftsmen
to serve and learn at their hand, until they decided what they wished to do
with their lives. In that way those who needed the assistance of a servant
did not lack, and young people found useful occupation until they could
enter the adult world.
Yeseph watched the girl disappear into his darkened doorway a little
wistfully. Quentin noticed his look and commented, “She’s a very able
helper, Yeseph. You are blessed.”
“Yes, and I am sorry to lose her.”
“Why would you lose her?”
“Why not? She is nearly eighteen. She wishes to be married soon. Next
summer perhaps. She and Rulan, a former pupil of mine. He is a good
young man, very intelligent. It will be a good match. But I will lose a
wonderful cook and companion. I feel she is my own daughter.”
“Why don’t you get married again?” asked Toli.
Yeseph suddenly looked flustered. “Who has been talking to you?”
“No one. I merely wondered.”
“Well, it is true nonetheless. That is what I wanted to tell you. I am to be
married. I am announcing the banns tonight.”
“Congratulations!” shouted Quentin, jumping to his feet. He crossed the
distance between himself and his former teacher in one bound and
embraced him, kissing both cheeks.
“Who is the lucky bride?”
“It is Karyll, the cloth-maker.”
“The widow of Lendoe, who was killed in the accident at the forge some
years ago.”
“Yes, the same. A fine woman. She has been lonely for so long....”
Quentin laughed. “You need not explain to us; you have our permission
already. I am sure you will both be very happy together.”
“Yes, we shall. I am very happy now—sharing this news with my
friends. You know I have come to regard you both as my own sons.”
“Certainly, you have been both teacher and father to us more times than
we can remember.”
“So it is fitting that you are the first to know.”
“Will the honored woman be here tonight? I would wish to congratulate
her as well.”
“She will be here—if that is not her voice I hear even now.”
The sound of light voices lifted in laughter came to the courtyard from
the street beyond. Yeseph dashed to the gate once more and welcomed his
bride and her two companions. Blushing and smiling, he led her toward
Quentin and Toli, who stood grinning.
“My friends, this is my betrothed, Karyll.”
The short, round-faced woman smiled warmly back at them. Her hair
was bound demurely at her neck in an ornamented netting, and among the
brown Quentin could see streaks of silver. She was dressed in a plain
white, loose-fitting gown with a bright blue shawl over her shoulders. She
was a handsome woman.
As Yeseph drew her close to him with his arm, he gave his future wife a
look of such endearment that Quentin felt a pang of longing for his own
beloved.
“Hello, Karyll, and congratulations. Yeseph has been telling us that you
two are to be married. I am very pleased.”
“Thank you, Quentin. We are very happy.” She turned and gazed into
Yeseph’s eyes and added, “Yeseph is full of your praises. It pleases me
that he has chosen you to hear of our plans first.”
“When will the wedding take place?” asked Toli.
“Yeseph and I thought that a midsummer wedding would be nice.”
“Yes,” agreed the groom. “There is really nothing to prevent us being
married at once. We are both of age.” He laughed and Karyll laughed with
him. But the laughter faded when Yeseph saw that neither Quentin nor
Toli shared their mirth. Both had become strangely silent; the light of
happiness was extinguished in their eyes.
“What is the matter? Does our plan not meet with your approval?”
“Yes, and more than you know. But I fear that we will not be among the
happy wedding guests.”
“Why not, may I ask?”
“We were going to tell you this evening. We have received a summons
from the King, and we must leave for Askelon.”
“Yes, I know... in a few weeks, but...”
“No—at once. A rider came today. We must leave at once.”
“Then we will wait until you return,” offered Yeseph. Karyll nodded her
agreement
Quentin smiled sadly. “No, I could not ask that. I do not know when we
may return. Please, do not wait on our account,”
Toli attempted to set the mood in a lighter tone. “Kenta means that if he
were in your place, Yeseph, he would not let so lovely a creature escape
into the arms of another. You must marry as you have planned. We will
return to greet the happy couple before they have been wed a fortnight.”
Yeseph sought Quentin’s eyes. He, as usual, could read more there than
his friend intended. “Is it trouble, then?”
“I fear that it is,” Quentin sighed. “The message did not say it directly,
and the courier did not say more. But he left immediately without awaiting
an answer.”
Yeseph regarded Quentin as he stood before him. From an awkward,
impetuous youth had grown a square-shouldered, sensitive man—tall, lean
in the way young men are, yet without the careless air they often have.
Quentin had a regal bearing, and yet utterly lacked any self-consciousness
of it, or the arrogance that often accompanied such a noble spirit.
A pang of longing ached in the old man’s heart when he saw his young
pupil and protégé wavering, as if on the brink of a great abyss. He wanted
to reach out and pull him back, but he knew he could not. Quentin
belonged to Dekra, yes. But he also belonged to Askelon, and neither
loyalty could he deny.
“You must go, of course.” Yeseph offered a strained smile. “When will
you leave?”
“Tomorrow at dawn. I think it best.”
“Of course. Of course. Do not delay. Besides, the sooner you are off, the
sooner you may return, and perhaps you will bring Bria with you this
time.”
At the mention of the name, Quentin started. He smiled warmly again.
The cold shadow which had fallen upon the happy group moved away,
and in the glimmering of a softly falling twilight they began to talk
excitedly once more of all they would do when next they met.
Despite their desire for an early start the next morning, Quentin and Toli
were the last to leave Yeseph’s house. There had been much singing and
eating and talking. The Elders had blessed the young men’s journey, and
all had listened to stories and songs of the lost Ariga sung by one of the
young Curatak musicians. Then all had made their good-byes, but none
more ardently than did Quentin.
“Look, Kenta,” said Toli as they found their way along the dark and
empty streets. The moon shone full upon the city, pouring out a liquid
silver light upon all it touched.
Quentin followed Toli’s gaze upward toward the sky. “What do you
see?”
“Oh, it is gone now. A star fell, that is all.”
“Hmmm.” Quentin retreated again into his reverie.
He listened to their footsteps echo along the streets and felt Dekra’s
quiet peacefulness enfold him. Then, unaccountably, he shivered, as if
they had just walked through a hanging pool of cooler air. Toli noticed the
quiver of Quentin’s shoulders and looked at his friend.
“Did you feel it too?”
Quentin ignored the question, and they continued on a few more paces.
“Do you think we will ever return to this place?” he asked finally.
“The night is not a time to dwell on such things.”
The two walked silently back to the governor’s palace and made their
way to their rooms. “It will be good to see Askelon again,” said Quentin as
they parted. “And all our friends. Good night.”
“Good night. I will wake you in the morning.”
For a long time Quentin lay on his bed and did not close his eyes. He
heard Toli quietly packing their things in the next room, and the Jher’s soft
footfall as he left to see to the horses before he, too, slept. At last he rolled
over on his side and fell at once to sleep as the moon shone brightly
through his balcony doors, peering in like a kindly face.
TWO
QUENTIN MET Toli in the stables—the grouping of low stone
structures Toli had turned to the purpose of breeding horses. In his time at
Dekra the Jher had become an excellent trainer and breeder of fine horses.
In fact, with the help of Eskevar’s stablemaster, he was developing a
remarkable strain of animals which were a cross between the heavier
warhorses, such as Balder, and lighter, more fleet racing stock which were
the pride of Pelagia. The resulting breed would possess strength and
stamina enough for battle, but would also have the ability to run fast and
far without tiring.
Quentin passed under the wide stone arch and came to stand before
Balder’s stall. The old warhorse whinnied softly when he saw his master
approaching. Quentin held out his hand and patted the horse’s soft muzzle
and stroked the bulging jaw.
“You may stay here this time, old boy. Take care of him, Wilton,” he
called over his shoulder to the youngster who helped Toli. “Give him an
extra carrot now and then.” Then patting the horse’s white-starred
forehead he said, “We will go for a long ride when I come back.”
The stables smelled of sweet fennel and straw and the warm bodies of
the horses. The smell reminded Quentin of traveling, and he reflected that
he was indeed anxious to be off. He crossed to where Toli stood checking
their mounts’ tack and gear.
“Good morning, Kenta. I was just about to come and wake you.”
“As you see I am ready to go; I did not sleep much of the night. Is all
prepared?” He turned to slap a milk-white stallion on the shoulder. “Ho,
there, Blazer! Are you anxious to stretch those long legs of yours?” The
horse tossed its flowing mane and rolled a blue-black eye at Quentin as if
to say, “Away! Let us be gone!”
“I have only to charge Wilton with some final instructions,” remarked
Toli, “then we shall go.”
It amused Quentin that Toli, who considered himself Quentin’s servant-
for-life, was also an object of devotion among the Curatak. The gentle Jher
enjoyed the services of several helpers, whom he treated as well as any
master treated a devoted servant. The simple fact was that Toli was
regarded as much a prince as was Quentin; and in the city where all men
were servants of one another, this was the highest honor.
Toli returned and took the reins of both horses and led them out into the
quiet streets. Quentin followed at Toli’s right hand and listened to the clop
of the horses’ hooves upon the cobbled stones of the ancient streets. In the
east the sky shone with a violet haze which lightened into a golden-red
hue as the sun rose higher.
Toli sniffed the air and announced, “The wind is from the west over the
sea. We will have good weather for our journey.”
“Good. I am hoping to be in Askelon before the new moon. We should
be able to manage that, aye?”
“It is possible. With good horses and the King’s road restored through
Pelgrin...”
“We have horses with wings, my friend. And Eskevar’s road is now
complete as far as the Arvin. We shall fly indeed.”
They reached the gates of the city and let themselves out. The gates
were seldom tended, since Dekra had no fear of intrusion and no real need
of defense.
At the small door which opened within the larger, Quentin paused and
took a long last look upon the city he loved. The red stone glowed with the
rosy hue of the rising sun. Towers and spires swept majestically into the
clear, cool morning air, gleaming and glittering like radiant crystal.
The ordinary sounds of the city waking to life echoed out into the empty
streets: a dog barked, a door opened and closed. Behind him Blazer and
Riv, Toli’s sleek black mount, shook their bridles, impatient to be moving
along. Quentin raised an arm in farewell to Dekra and then turned to his
horse.
“It is time for speed,” he called as he swung himself up into the saddle.
“On, Blazer!” The horse lifted his forelegs off the ground, gave a little
kick and leapt ahead to the trail.
Quentin pushed an eager course through the low hills and into the
wretched marshlands. They planned to hold north as far as Malmarby, thus
skirting the boggy wasteland as much as possible. At Malmarby they
would hire a boat to cross the inlet and swing along the shore west past
Celbercor’s Wall. Then the trail would become easier. They would make
for the Arvin River where it came spilling clear and cold out of the Fiskills
and ride through the wild foothills above Narramoor along the King’s new
road, and speed along through Pelgrin to Askelon.
The days on the trail were uneventful. Game was plentiful and, thanks to
Toli’s skill as a hunter, they never lacked for anything the hills could
provide.
They arrived at Malmarby village one bright morning, picking the wider
path toward the town out of the maze of bogs and wetlands which
surrounded it.
As they approached the village, Toli stiffened in the saddle and reined
摘要：

19-06-03-v2.0-spellcorrections-billbo196THEWARLORDSOFNINByStephenLawheadONEQUENTINSTOODatthehighparapetoverlookingthetranquilforest.Hiseyesscannedthegentlyliftinghillsclothedintheirgreensofearlysummer,allsoftenedinthegoldenafternoonlightbythegatheringmistsofevening.Athishanduponthecoolstonebalustrad...

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