Read Online In the Hall of the Dragon King by Stephen Lawhead - Free Book Online Page A

tree in the kingdom and beyond. In springtime the inner ward would burst in blooms of riotous color; now it was covered over with a still, white shroud of snow.
    As Quentin watched, a man dressed in a long brocaded coat lined with sable—a lord or prince, by the look of his rich clothing—emerged from a stone archway to hurry across the garden to another part of the castle. Quentin waited until the nobleman had passed and then followed him. The man scurried across the snowy expanse and darted into the castle with Quentin right behind.
    Once inside, Quentin lost the man when he disappeared into one of the many doors opening off the main corridor. He was standing still, wondering what to do next, when a gruff voice bellowed behind. “Stop! If you have business here, speak up! Well? Out with it!”
    Quentin spun on his heel to see a square-built man bearing toward him menacingly. “I have come to see the queen.” He uttered the first words that sprang into his mind.
    â€œOh, have you, now?” The man frowned furiously. “Clear out! You should know better than to be lurking about my keep. Clear out, I say!”
    Quentin jumped back and thrust the sealed packet before him as if to ward off an impending blow. “Please, sir, I have a letter.”
    â€œWhat is the trouble here, warder?” The voice came from an open door, and Quentin looked up to see the nobleman he’d followed into the castle.
    â€œThis one says he’s to see the queen. I think he’s about mischief, I do.”
    The man stepped up to Quentin. “Let me see your papers.”
    Quentin swallowed hard and offered the sealed parchment to the man. He snatched up the letter and looked at the seal, broke it, and read the message with a cursory glance. “Where is your master?” the man demanded, eyeing Quentin closely.
    â€œHe—he could not come, so sent me ahead to beg the queen’s pardon.”
    â€œHmph—tell your master that he had better value Her Majesty’s requests more highly in the future or he will lose her favor—and the benefit of her trade.” He handed the letter back to Quentin. “Very well, follow me.”
    The man was not a lord as Quentin had supposed, but the queen’s chamberlain, and he led Quentin through a maze of corridors and ante rooms to a high-arched passageway on an upper level of the castle. “Sit down,” the chamberlain commanded at last.
    Quentin took a seat upon a low bench across the corridor from a great carved wooden door. A window of thick, frost-covered glass looked out upon the inner ward, and Quentin gazed out blankly, trying to remember what he was going to say to the queen. He had forgotten it all.
    The chamberlain entered and exited the apartment several times, as did others, mostly servants and other women. Once or twice Quentin thought he must be seeing the queen herself emerge from her chambers; these visions of beauty, Quentin discovered, were the queen’s personal attendants; however, all were arrayed and conducted themselves very much like queens to Quentin’s unpracticed eye.
    After a time the chamberlain emerged once more and came directly to Quentin. “Her Majesty wishes to see you now,” he said and added a further word of instruction for Quentin’s benefit. “When entering the royal apartment, it is proper to kneel until Her Majesty has asked you to rise.”
    Quentin nodded and followed the man through the door to her outer apartment. This was a large open room hung with tapestries and richly furnished. A few women sat at looms, weaving and talking as they worked. A minstrel played in one corner to the accompaniment of several ladies singing. The room seemed filled with charming activity. Quentin wondered which of the lovely women he saw was Queen Alinea. But the chamberlain marched him through this room to another, the queen’s private chamber.
    The chamberlain knocked once upon the