The Sword and the Flame (The Dragon King Trilogy, Book 3)

by Stephen R. Lawhead

Product Description Sometimes the greatest evil lies within.The Dragon King who rules the land of Mensandor is none other than Quentin, whose courage and heroism have slowly transformed him from an orphaned servant into a war hero, respected leader, and a fierce man of faith.But even the powerful can fall prey to weakness. The world is turned upside-down when the dark sorcerer Nimrood--long thought dead after a battle with the previous Dragon King--returns with a fearsome plan. Shattered by the death of a dear and trusted friend, the abduction of his beloved son, and the loss of his enchanted sword, Quentin finds his faith tested like never before.In The Sword and the Flame, the final volume of Stephen R. Lawheads captivating Dragon King Trilogy, the fate of the entire world depends on the outcome of this climactic battle between good and evil. Review 'This is fantasy with thunder and chase, with peril and breathtaking escapes.' Fantasy Newsletter Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Chapter One The hunched figure toiled up the winding trail leaning heavily upon his long crooked staff, stopping frequently to rest and to look down upon the placid lowlands, gazing toward the west in the direction of Askelon. He was an old man of years beyond counting, dressed in the robes and cowl of a priest. The hood threw a dark shadow across his features, and though the day was hot and the sun bright, he did not uncover his head but went on his way wrapped head to toe. Seen from a distance he might have been a black beetle scrabbling up a hillock bearing the weight of his burdensome shell. When he reached the summit of the plateau he sat down on a rock beneath an ancient wind-worn tree that threw its sparse, gnarled branches over the road. Many a pilgrim had sat there upon that rock to offer up a prayer to the gods for a fortuitous oracle. But this traveler was no pilgrim and offered no prayers. Instead, he sat and with narrowed eyes gazed out over the countryside. The air sang with bird-song and shimmered as the heat rose in waves from the land. In the misty blue distance his sharp eagle's vision could see the dark green line of Pelgrin Forest, lying like a vast green sea away to the west. In the valley below, peasants labored in the fields among their new crops. Their shouts to their lazy oxen drifted up the side of the hill like petitions to an unhearing god. The old man turned his face away from the peaceful landscape shining green and golden beneath clear, untroubled blue skies. He looked toward the temple rising white and silent as a tomb above him. Then he lifted himself heavily to his legs once more, took up his staff, and continued on. When he reached the temple yard he stopped and leaned long on his staff, as if waiting for a sign, or as if, having come this far, he was unable to decide whether to finish what he came to do. After some time he turned his face to the east, toward the mountains whose mighty heads could be seen rising above their heavy shoulders. There, above the far peaks, he saw dark clouds assembling and moving westward on the wind. The old priest nodded to himself and then went across the stone-paved yard to the temple steps. He climbed the stairs, raised the iron ring on the great wooden door, and knocked several times. After a few moments the door opened and a man in a red cloak poked his head out. 'The temple is not open at this hour.' The man looked at the old priest unkindly. 'Come back at the seventh hour if you want prayers or an omen.' 'Do you not see that I am a priest?' asked the old one. 'I have come to see the High Priest of Ariel.' 'He sees no one,' the temple guard said. 'He is in retreat.' 'Is he, indeed? But this is a matter of greatest urgency. He must see me.' The guard glared at the wrinkled old priest, and his features proclaimed that the old man and his crooked staff were a great nuisance. But before he could reply, the old priest spoke again. 'It

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