In the Hall of the Dragon King Read Online Free Page B

unsure as he was about what kind of reception he should expect. Yet he knew as he placed the silver coin into Durwin’s hand that he had nothing to fear from this man.
    Durwin’s face radiated a kindly light. Bright blue eyes winked out of a hide creased and lined like soft leather and browned by the sun. Great bushy brown eyebrows, which seemed to have a life of their own, highlighted the hermit’s speech and were matched brush for bristle by a sprawling forest of moustache and beard. Beneath his cloak he wore the simple robes of a priest, but gray rather than brown.
    â€œSo it is! The old weasel sends you with this? Does he indeed?” The hermit turned the coin over in his hand thoughtfully. “Well, I don’t suppose it can be helped, can it?” Then he turned to Quentin and said, “There is a wider path than many know, though I’m sure you don’t have an inkling what I mean.” Quentin stared back blankly. “No, of course you don’t. Still, he sent you here,” the hermit mused to himself.
    â€œDid he tell you anything else?” the holy man asked.
    â€œOnly this: that he seeks a brighter light.”
    At this both men exploded with laughter. The other, who had remained silent, was obviously following the exchange closely. “He said that, did he?” Durwin laughed. “By the gods’ beards, there’s hope for him yet.”
    Quentin stood mystified at this outburst. He felt awkward and a little used, relaying jokes of which he knew less than nothing to strangers who laughed at his expense. His frown must have shown them that he did not approve of the levity, for Durwin stopped at once and offered the silver coin back to Quentin. “This coin is the symbol of an expelled priest. See?” He dug into his clothing and brought out a silver coin on a chain around his neck. “I have one too.”
    Quentin took the two coins and examined them; they were the same in every detail except that Durwin’s was older and more worn.
    â€œThey are temple coins minted for special occasions and given to priests when they die or leave as payment for their service to god. Some payment, eh?”
    â€œYou used to be a priest?” Quentin wondered aloud.
    â€œYes, of course. Biorkis and I are very good friends; we entered the temple together and became priests together.”
    â€œEnough of old times,” said the stranger impatiently. “Durwin, introduce me to your guest in a proper fashion.”
    Quentin turned and eyed the dark man, ignored for the most part until now. He was above average in height, Quentin guessed, but since the man was on the stool, with his limbs folded across themselves, Quentin could not tell for sure. His clothes were of a dark, indistinct color and consisted of a long cloak worn loosely over a close-fitting tunic and trousers of the same dark material as the rest. He wore a wide black belt at his waist, to which was attached a rather large leather pouch.
    But the man’s features commanded the better of Quentin’s attention. The face was keen in the firelight, bright-eyed and alert. A high forehead rose to meet a head of dark, thick hair swept back and falling almost to his shoulders. The man’s sharp nose thrust itself out over a firm mouth that opened upon a set of straight, white teeth. On the whole, the appearance bespoke a man of action and movement, of quick reflexes and perhaps quicker wits.
    â€œQuentin,” the ex-priest was saying, “this man you are staring at is my good friend Theido, a much welcome and often missed guest at this humble hearth.”
    The man dipped his head low in acknowledgment of the courtesy. Quentin bowed stiffly from the waist out of respect. “I am glad to meet you, young sir,” said Theido. “An expelled priest, I have found, makes a good friend.” At this both men laughed again. And though he did not know why, Quentin laughed too.
    The three