Read Online The Warlords of Nin by Stephen Lawhead - Free Book Online

his hand in both of hers and led him to the bench. “Please, sit with me but a little.” To Quentin’s glance she answered, “I know the king is waiting, but it is important. I would have a word with you before you see him.”
    Her sparkling green eyes, deep and serene as forest pools, searched his for a moment, as if deciding whether the hearer would be strong enough to bear the words she had to say. “Quentin,” she said softly, “the king is very ill.”
    â€œSo I have learned from Bria.” He blushed. “We met this morning when I arrived. She told me of her concern for his health.”
    â€œBut I think even Bria does not guess how far he has fallen. She is devoted to her father and loves him with all her heart, but she does not know him as I do. Something consumes him before my eyes; it gnaws at him from within, stealing his strength and sapping his spirit.”
    Again in answer to Quentin’s look, she continued, “Do not wonder at what I tell you; you will see for yourself soon enough. He has greatly changed since you last saw him. It is all I can do to keep from weeping in his presence.” She appeared to be on the verge of tears at that very moment.
    â€œMy queen, I am your servant. Say the word and I will do whatever you require.”
    â€œOnly this: take no unusual notice of him when you go in to him. It upsets him when people worry after him. Do not let on that you believe him ill, or that I have told you anything of his condition.”
    â€œI promise it. But is there nothing else I can do?”
    â€œNo.” She patted his hand. “I know that you would if you could. But I have sent for Durwin and have placed a heavy charge on him. It may take all of his healing powers to restore the king—if he is not now beyond them.”
    â€œI will pray to the Most High that Durwin’s cures have effect.”
    â€œThat is my course, as well.” The queen smiled, and again the room seemed lighter, for a dark cloud had passed over Quentin’s heart as they talked. He rose, more encouraged. “Go to him now, my son. And remember what I told you.”
    â€œI will, my lady. You need not fear.”
    Quentin quietly left the room, and when he had stepped back into the corridor, he found Oswald waiting for him. The chamberlain led him to the king’s chambers, knocked, and then admitted him.
    â€œYour Majesty, Quentin is here.”
    Quentin drew a deep breath and stepped across the threshold. In the center of the high-ceilinged chamber sat a heavy, round oaken table, shaped like the room itself, for it was a part of one of Askelon’s many towers. Small, round windows of amber glass tinted the afternoon light with a warm hue. Eskevar was standing in a shaft of light from one of these windows, his back turned, gazing out into the courtyard below.
    There was an awkward moment when Quentin could not speak, and the king did not seem to have heard the chamberlain’s announcement. Quentin hesitated, feeling suddenly trapped. Then the king turned slowly and fixed his eyes upon Quentin. A thin smile stretched his lips. “Quentin, my son, you have come.”
    If not for the queen’s warning, Quentin did not know what he would have done. He bit his lower lip to stifle a cry and then recovered himself and forced a grin.
    â€œI came as soon as I could. Toli’s horses are magnificent. I believe they have wings. We flew over the land at an astounding pace.”
    Still smiling—the sad, weak smile of a dying man, Quentin thought grimly—the king advanced slowly and offered his hand.
    Quentin took it without hesitation and could not help noticing how weak the king’s grip had become, and how cold the feel of his hand.
    Eskevar’s flesh had taken on a waxen pallor, and his eyes seemed to burn with a dull, feverish light; his lips were cracked and raw, and his hair—that crowning glory of rich, dark