In the Hall of the Dragon King by Stephen Lawhead

thanks necessary,” replied Voss with a wide smile. His eyes glittered, and his teeth shone white in the dark. “We are only too glad to repay in kind what has oft been given us. Away with you!” he shouted suddenly, slapping the horses on the neck. “You may still dream before dawn.”
    Theido saluted the stocky woodsman and bowed to the circle of men gathered about them. They returned his salute, raising their longbows high in the air and saying, “May Ariel guide you!” Three men jumped forward and seized the reins of the horses and led them off into the forest. Quentin looked back over his shoulder to where Voss and the rest still watched after them. He waved, and the bushmen’s leader waved back. Quentin watched until they were removed from sight by the forest closing once more around them.

11
    Q uentin awoke to the smell of roasting meat seasoned with pungent spices. The aroma teased him, bringing water to his mouth and an ache to his empty stomach. It seemed like a month since he had last eaten.
    His eyelids were heavy as bobs of lead, and he had not the strength to open them. So he lay in a state of suspended animation, awake but unmoving, dragging his scattered thoughts together and willing his reluctant limbs to move—and only half succeeding in either case.
    At last, overcome by hunger and coaxed upright by the pleasant odors wafting over him, he pushed away his cloak and gleaned the straw from his hair.
    He heard voices and—struggling to his feet out of the dry, straw-filled corner that had served for his bed—approached the hermit’s long table, where Durwin and Theido mumbled together.
    â€œ. . . Then we must use every caution. Any misstep would prove fatal. So much is at stake.” Quentin heard this ominous pronouncement as he drew nearer the table. Durwin was speaking. “We must arm ourselves accordingly—I see no other alternative.”
    â€œNo,” replied Theido softly, yet his voice carried a stern objection. “I cannot ask such a thing of you. There must be another way.”
    Just then Quentin reached the table and the two men cut short their conversation and greeted him heartily. “Durwin, our young acolyte saved my life yesterday. Did I tell you?” Theido said, raising a cup of steaming liquid to Quentin as Durwin hurried to place a bowl of hot porridge and bread before him.
    â€œYes, you have told me only three hundred times this morning, but I’ll gladly hear it again,” replied the hermit.
    Theido recounted in glowing terms all that had taken place the last morning, from the capture to the daring escape and the moonlit ride. “Had it not been for my young friend’s disobedience of my orders, I would be food for the owls today.”
    â€œDisobedience? When did I disobey you?” Quentin croaked.
    â€œYou were instructed to ride back to Durwin here if I came to harm or if our plans miscarried.”
    Quentin remembered the order; it had been scared right out of his head in the confusion and fright of the ambush. And later he had chanced upon a better plan.
    â€œQuentin,” continued Theido, “you stand absolved of any wrong. But I must stress this to you now: you are never to disobey my orders again. Follow them no matter what may seem to you the outcome. Do you understand?”
    â€œYes, sir,” Quentin answered uncertainly. He had only minutes before been praised for his bravery and pluck. Now he felt severely reprimanded.
    â€œTut,” said Durwin. “Don’t be so strong-headed, Theido. I think the god intervened with a command of his own. I tell you the god has a hand on this one.” The holy hermit nodded approvingly to Quentin, who was glad for this affirmation.
    â€œI will obey in all details,” said Quentin. He sat down on the bench and began tearing the bread to pieces and stirring the pieces into the steaming porridge. “Now may I ask something that I