The Sword and the Flame Read Free

around the room quickly. “And where is your brother? Still abed? The day is fleeing!”
    â€œOh, no. He grabbed a seedcake and ran off a long time ago. He is meeting Toli in the stable yard. They are going riding.”
    â€œRiding again! Always riding. It is a wonder the boy does not grow hooves and a mane.”
    The girls giggled at the thought. The queen sighed. She did not relish the idea of one so young riding such big horses. Still, she thought, as long as he was with Toli, no harm could come to him.
    â€œNow then, eat your breakfast. We have much to do this day to make ready for Lady Esme’s visit!”
    They sat down to eat, but the girls were in such high spirits that they could only peck at their food. At last their mother dismissed them, and they ran laughing from the hall. Bria smiled, watching their braids flouncing as they went.
    So Esme is coming. That is good news, she thought. How did the girls find out, I wonder. Well, however it is, she will be greatly welcome. It has been too long since she was in Askelon. Too long. I have missed her.

    Quentin stood at a large, rough-hewn table in the center of a great rec-tangle of stone. His head was bent in concentration over a huge parchment roll that was weighted down at either end with a stone.
    â€œSee here,” he said, pointing to a place on the plan. “If we raise this wall within the week, we can begin laying in the beams. What do you say to that, Bertram?”
    Bertram, the grizzled old master mason, squinted at the place where the king’s finger pointed, then raised his head and scratched his scruffy jaw, nodding at the wall before them across the way. “Aye, it is possible, Sire,” he replied diplomatically. “But the corbels must be set first, and they are not ready yet. Nor the trusses, neither.”
    â€œHmmm,” said the king, frowning.
    â€œBut we’ll see her raised soon enough, m’lord. Indeed we will. Count on it. Up she’ll go soon enough.” He nodded his head and then called over to one of his masons. “Excuse me, Sire. I must attend—”
    â€œYes, of course. Go on. I am returning to the castle soon.”
    â€œGood day to you, m’lord.” Bertram bowed and hurried away.
    Quentin stood for a moment with his hands on his hips and gazed at the work going on around him. The morning was clear and bright, the long grass still wet from the rain through the night. The masons and their many workmen toiled away with vigor. Quarrymen with sledges loaded with stone added their loads to the rock piles at either end of the rectangle, while laborers selected rocks from these mounds and tum-bled them into wheelbarrows, ferrying them to the walls. Mortar makers and their carriers stirred the mud pits and loaded fresh mortar onto pallets, supplying the masons, who continually clamored for more.
    In the midst of this ordered confusion, the walls of the new temple, the temple of the Most High, rose slowly and almost imperceptibly. The work was in its sixth year, and it sometimes seemed to Quentin that it would never end.
    He was impatient for the temple to be finished, for its completion would inaugurate the new era; and in this temple he would lead in the worship of Mensandor’s new god. The temple would be a symbol to all the realm that the new age had dawned at last.
    The old gods are dead, he would proclaim. Worship the new God, the Most High, Creator and Ruler of all!
    Word of the new temple had quickly spread throughout the land since construction had begun. There was not a house in all the realm that did not know of the King’s Temple, as it was called. But six years had passed, and four more at least were needed before it could be completed. Until then . . . well, there was much work to do until then.
    Quentin heard the jingle of bells behind him and turned to see Blazer tossing his head impatiently. The great horse had cropped all the sweet grass within reach and