The warlords of Nin (dk-2) by Stephen R Lawhead

Author:Stephen R Lawhead [Lawhead, Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sf_fantasy

“The sword shall burn with flames of fire.

Darkness shall die;

conquered, it flees on falcon’s wings.

“The dragon under the hill shall be ancient;

lordly, bold and unafraid.

“The gods of high places shall be thrown down;

theirs shall be the rage of death.

The Most High shall suffer them no more.

“From out of the temple he has called his servant;

his ways shall be exalted.”

TWENTY-NINE

ESME AND BRIA were waiting for them as they emerged from the council chambers. Quentin smiled when he saw them, although he did not feel like smiling. The two young women had become such fast friends they were seen together everywhere, and it pleased Quentin to thunk that though very different in many ways, they shared much in common, especially the same iron resolve in matters that touched them deeply. They were, he reflected, the living ideal of the word princess.

Quentin had not spoken upon emerging from the chamber. He felt weak and a little frightened of what he might say next. The vision and prophecy had unnerved him, making him feel he could no longer trust himself to behave normally. Toli had ushered them all away to a quiet spot in the kitchen where they could sit and munch apples and be alone.

After a while Quentin recovered some of his usual good humor and began to talk about what had happened. He told of the talk around the table, and of his dream, and the prophecy he had uttered, and how excited Durwin and Biorkis had become after hearing it. It was then that Esme related her own experience with the daughter of Orphe, and of the prophecy that had been given her in exchange for the meal she had cooked for the oracle.

Esme recited the strange prophecy, and Quentin was struck with how similar it was to the one he had himself spoken. Both spoke of a sword of power that would vanquish the invaders with a stroke. When Esme had finished her story they had all fallen silent for a long time, not daring to break the spell that descended upon the little group.

For Quentin the time of silence was welcome. He turned the words over in his mind, sifting them, holding them as they tumbled through his consciousness. His vision, so long ago received in his Blessing of the Ariga at the temple in Dekra, seemed now to be taking form, unfolding before him and pulling him along. His vision. Long had he pondered it and held it in his heart. Part of him wanted to run to it, to embrace whatever lay ahead, knowing that he would never know true peace unless he did. Another part of him wanted to hold it off, to turn away from its terrible, fierce glory. And Quentin was torn between the two.

Quentin and Toli stood in the night-darkened passageway and knocked. They heard a shuffle on the other side of the heavy door, and it was drawn open slowly. Ronsard’s broad handsome face grinned back at them.

“Enter, friends,” he said. “We have been waiting for you.

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