The Sword and the Flame Read Free Page A

was ready to move on. He tossed his head restlessly, setting the little bells braided into his mane and along his silver bridle ringing, as if to say, “Away! The sun is up; the day is good. Let us run!”
    Quentin smiled and walked to the animal, placing his hand on the horse’s broad nose. “You are impatient, and so am I, old friend. Very well,” said the king, raising his foot to the stirrup, “we will go. I have bothered these good men enough for one day.”
    He swung himself easily up into the saddle and jerked the reins. Blazer lifted his forelegs off the ground and spun around. Quentin lifted his hand to Bertram, who waved back, and then Blazer leaped away. They raced along the road leading down the broad slope of the hill, dodging the ox-drawn wains bearing food and supplies to the work-men. Then, feeling the sun on his face and the beauty of the day springing up inside him, the king spurred Blazer off the road and let him run down the side of the hill and out onto the plain below Askelon.
    The castle rose up on its crown of rock, shining like a jewel in the morning light. Red and blue pennons fluttered and snapped from a thousand spires. The high battlements soared above, topped with turrets and barbicans—strong, safe, forever secure.
    Quentin enjoyed the strength of the animal beneath him; his heart raced as they thundered over the still-damp ground. Blazer’s hooves struck up muddy turf and flung it skyward as they galloped on.
    Presently they came to a great stone cenotaph standing alone in the center of the plain. Quentin reined Blazer to a trot as they approached. They stopped in front of the cenotaph, and Quentin dismounted. He walked to the monument and knelt at its base.
    Inscribed in stone on both sides of the slab were the words Quentin knew by heart. Yet he read them once again. They said:
    Here upon this field did the warriors of Mensandor meet and defeat in battle the barbarian host of Nin, called the Destroyer.
    Here Eskevar, Dragon King, Lord of the Realm, fell, and many brave men with him, nevermore to rise. Peace was purchased with their blood and freedom with their swords.
    After reading the words he had read so often, Quentin stood and remounted and rode off once more toward Askelon.

3
    A way east of the city, in a meadow ringed with ancient oaks, secluded from prying eyes, Toli and Prince Gerin rode together. “Try it again, young prince,” called Toli, turning the cantering Riv toward a well-worn path where the great trunk of a fallen tree lay.
    The prince, a hardy young boy of nine with a tousled mane of dark brown hair, studied the obstacle before him, his quick green eyes narrowed in utmost concentration, his mouth pulled into a pucker. Flushed with excitement, color rising red to his cheeks, Gerin thrust out his jaw earnestly. The act was such an exact parody of the king that Toli chuck-led behind his fist in order to keep from laughing aloud.
    Then, with a flick of the reins, the prince kicked his heels into his pony’s flanks and away they flew, back down the path toward the fallen trunk.
    At the last second the little prince threw the reins ahead and leaned forward against the horse’s neck. The pony lifted its legs and soared over the obstacle with ease, landing with a bump on the other side. The young rider rocked forward in the saddle and bounced to one side, but retained his seat on his mount.
    â€Very good!” cried Toli. “Excellent! That is the way! Come here now and rest a little.” He beamed at his charge, nodding well-earned approval.
    â€œJust once more, Toli. Please? I want to remember what it feels like.” He turned the horse again and started for the log.
    Toli reined up and dismounted, watching the prince carefully. This time as the boy’s horse approached the obstacle, the animal hesitated, unsure of his rider’s command. He jumped awkwardly and late, throwing himself over. Prince Gerin slipped