The Sword and the Flame by Stephen Lawhead Page B

pain.
    He awoke more wrung out than when he lay down, and rose wearily, stiff from his hard bed among the roots of the tree. In the raw, red light of dawn, Quentin rubbed his burning eyes and set about saddling Blazer once more.
    â€œQuentin!” The king turned his eyes to the shout and peered into the dimness of the forest trail. The sun was not yet fully up, and the shadows still lay heavy along the road, but he perceived the forms of riders approaching some way off. He waited, then recognized Toli riding toward him out of the gloom.
    â€œSire, at last we have found you.” The Jher’s features bore the traces of a sleepless night, but his eyes were as sharp and quick as ever.
    â€œHave you seen anything?” asked Quentin.
    â€œNo, my lord. Nothing, that is, except the body of an unfortunate lying in the road.” Toli’s eyes examined Quentin carefully.
    â€œYes,” said Quentin flatly. He turned away and put his foot in the stirrup, climbing back into the saddle. “I saw him too.”
    Toli did not pursue the matter further, thinking it better to leave it for now. The others joined them, longing for an opportunity to dis-mount and stretch aching muscles. No one spoke directly to the king. His woeful countenance stilled their tongues.
    Only Toli had the temerity to draw him aside to speak openly. “What would you have us do, Kenta?” He used the affectionate name of years past.
    â€œFind my son!” Quentin snapped, his mood raw as the new morning.
    Toli wisely ignored the remark. “We should return to the castle for more men; we could cover more ground that way. We need fresh horses and supplies.”
    â€œDo what you will,” replied the king. His jaw was set. “I will continue the search alone.”
    â€œWhere will you go?”
    â€œSouth.”
    â€œWhy south? They could easily have turned off the trail anywhere. In the night we would have missed the track.”
    â€œWhat else am I to do?” shouted Quentin. The others looked at him. He lowered his voice. “I have no better choice.”
    â€œReturn with us to Askelon. We will send messengers out to all the towns and villages to watch for the brigands. We can—”
    â€œMy son has been taken, Toli!” Quentin gestured wildly to the great forest. “I will not return until he is found. I cannot return until he is safe.”
    Toli searched the face of the one he knew so well, and yet, at this moment, seemed not to know at all. Something has changed my Kenta, he thought. This is not like him at all. Durwin’s death and the abduction of his son had tormented him, twisted him. Yes, but there was something more. Then he saw it—the empty scabbard at Quentin’s side. At once he understood.
    â€œCome back with us, Kenta,” he said softly. “Yesterday we had a chance of finding them quickly. But now . . . now they have had enough time to cover their trail, to double back—who knows where they may be by now? To find them we will need help, and a leader. You are the king. Who will lead if you will not?”
    â€œAnyone!” snapped Quentin. “Anyone better than I. You lead the search, Toli!” The king’s eyes burned savagely; his mouth contorted into a snarl of hate. “Durwin’s blood is on your head, as is my son’s if any-thing happens to him. They would be safe now if you had not left them alone. You are to blame for this—it is your fault!”
    Toli, speechless, stared at his king and friend. Never had Quentin raised his voice toward him; never had he shown anger toward him. But then, he reflected, the king was right. It is my fault; I am to blame. I should never have left them alone and in danger like that. I am to blame.
    â€œI am sorry,” Toli started. “Sorry—”
    â€œFind my son!” shouted Quentin, his voice shrill. “Find him, or never let me set eyes on you again!”
    With that, the