Read Online The Sword and the Flame by Stephen Lawhead - Free Book Online Page A

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.
    â€œDurwin!”
    The hermit’s face had gone as gray as ashes. His eyelids flickered, and he focused cloudy eyes on his friend. “Ah, Quentin . . .”
    â€œWhat has happened? Who has done this to you?”
    â€œThe prince . . . your son. They have taken him . . .”
    â€œWho? Here, let me help you—”
    â€œNo, no. Leave me. Find your son. They went through there.” He nodded his head weakly.
    â€œHow many?”
    â€œThree or four. I did not see them clearly. Maybe more. Toli—ah!” Pain twisted his features; his limbs convulsed and then relaxed.
    â€œEasy,” soothed Quentin. “We will find them. Rest now.” He struggled to remain calm.
    â€œYes, 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.
    â€œYes, and we have many roads yet to ride.” Quentin held him tightly.
    â€œYou will ride them alone, I think. But I am content—I am not afraid to die.”
    â€œYou are not dying!” Quentin shouted desperately. Tears rose in his throat. “You will survive. Help is coming.”
    â€œI fear it will come too late.” He gazed at Quentin again. “Do not blame Toli. It is not his fault.”
    â€œI do not understand,” Quentin said.
    â€œBe strong, Quentin. Remember, you are the king. You must lead your kingdom. This will be your sorest test, your darkest day.”
    â€œNo!” Quentin could see his friend was slipping away. “You will never die!”
    â€œSo it is! The spirit never dies . . . never. We will meet again, fair friend. I will wait for you. No pain, no fear . . .”
    â€œDo 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.”
    â€œWe 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.”
    â€œSilence! 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.”
    â€œHe’s the prince, I say!” maintained the man.
    â€œIs this true?” asked Nimrood. His eyes bored into the lad. “What is your name?”
    â€œGerin,” he replied steadily. “Who are you?”
    â€œImpudent cub!” The old man reached out and cuffed the boy, leaving a red welt on his cheek.
    â€œMy father will deal with you,” said the prince. “Let me go.”
    â€œNo,” said Nimrood slowly