The Thunder King (Bell Mountain) Page 11

  Those who tried to stand and fight were soon cut down; and before the sun was much higher in the sky, all that remained of the Heathen army were a couple of hundred prisoners pleading for their lives before the man who’d slain their giant.

  CHAPTER 19

  New Recruits

  Ryons fell asleep shortly after the sun went down. He was tired and sore from riding the horse all day; and he fell off once, too. What would his Ghols say, if they could have seen that?

  He saw not a single human being all day. He was somewhere southeast of Obann; that was all he knew. It was a fruitful country, much better than any lands the Wallekki had. Ryons passed through an abandoned apple orchard and filled his canteen twice at springs Cavall found. It was good, sweet water, and around one of the springs grew blackberries. Birds had gotten most of them, but there were still a few delicious handfuls left.

  Birds were everywhere, kinds he’d never seen before. The only animal of any size he saw was some kind of big, round, roly-poly creature that ambled into a huge briar patch before he could get a good look at it. The mare snorted and fidgeted and acted like she wouldn’t take one step closer to the beast, whatever it was. Cavall growled, and his hackles stood up. Ryons expected him to run after the creature, but he didn’t. Any animal Cavall wouldn’t chase, he thought, was surely best avoided.

  So he fell asleep early, and he had a dream. It was the same dream he’d had once before: he saw a host of warriors fleeing in terror as he looked down on them from some great height. They ran hard, but for all their effort they weren’t getting any farther from him. It was as if Ryons were pursuing them like an eagle from the sky; but it didn’t feel like he was flying. Not that he knew what flying really felt like—but in a dream you would know a thing like that.

  He woke in the middle of the night, safe on the ground with Cavall curled up and sleeping next to him. His heart was racing, just as if the dream had been a real experience. And that was the second time he’d had it! What could it mean?

  Obst could have told him from the Scriptures: “In those days My servants shall dream dreams; and I will exalt the meek and lowly, and bring down the proud.” Jack could have told him it was a dream, the same one over and over, that had sent him and Ellayne to Bell Mountain.

  There were dreams being dreamed in many places that night.

  In the city of Obann, old men and old women, stable boys and beggars in rags, dreamed of fire and destruction; and those who were prophets told their dreams to the people of the city, to warn them. Judge Tombo’s men arrested them wherever they found them, but there were always more to take their place.

  In Lintum Forest at the castle, Jandra had the same dream Ryons had—exactly the same one. It frightened her and made her cry. Abgayle picked her up and sang to her. This time there was no voice of prophecy in the child, and she was too young to know how to describe her dream to Abgayle.

  “Hush, little one,” Abgayle said. “Daddy Helki will come home again someday, and God is watching over us and him.”

  No one was asleep yet at the site of Helki’s battle. The victors were resting, rejoicing, and tending to their wounds while their chiefs considered what to do about the prisoners.

  “The Zamzu should be killed,” said Shaffur. “They’re savages and cannibals. We may be thankful the Thunder King has not yet raised an army of them.”

  The Abnaks were for killing all the prisoners, just because that was what they always did. “Uduqu can behead them, two at a time,” Chief Spider said.

  “Chieftains!” Obst cried. “You aren’t heathen anymore. Do you think God gave you victory today so you could slaughter helpless prisoners? If that was what He wanted, He would have told us! Do you think He has saved you out of so many dangers so you could do that? You are a new people now, my lords. You have to learn new ways of doing things—ways that honor God.”

  “He would not be honored by a scalp dance?” Spider said.

  “No, no, no!” said Obst.

  “We can spare the Wallekki prisoners,” Shaffur said. “They can be convinced to join us, and they will keep their word, once given. But if we are now God’s people, those others are only heathen.”

  “And so were you!” Obst answered. “All of you! As you have received mercy, be merciful yourselves. The prophet Ika said, ‘The weak, when they prevail, are cruel, but the strong show mercy. For God who is strongest of all is most merciful of all.’ You’ll have to do as you see fit, my lords. But I’ve told you what is pleasing in the sight of God.”

  For some long moments no chieftain spoke. Then Helki raised his voice.

  “We have men in this army who’ve fought against us, and not so long ago. You and your brothers, Hawk”—Hawk was one of four black men from a country so far away no one else in the army had ever heard of it—“invaded Lintum Forest as enemies. Yet here you are, like brothers to the rest of us.

  “I say we ought to enlist those prisoners who want to fight for us and send the rest under guard to Caryllick to labor on the walls. I reckon there’ll be men who feel right grateful when they find out they won’t be the main attraction in an Abnak scalp dance. Grateful men make loyal soldiers.”

  Shaffur glared at him. “How would you know that?” he said. “You were never a soldier. You’re a crazy man who wears ridiculous patched clothes and kills giants.”

  Helki threw back his head and laughed, and all the chieftains laughed with him, even Shaffur. They approved his plan, and no more men were killed that night.

  CHAPTER 20

  Obst Preaches from the Scrolls

  As the army drew near to the Imperial River, Obst persuaded the chieftains to send messengers to towns and cities that had survived attacks or just been bypassed by the great invasion.

  “We have been given these lost Scriptures for a reason, my lords,” he said, “and what better reason than to make them known to as many people as will hear us?”

  Two nights later, the entire surviving populace of the town of Gilmy, on the north bank of the river, crossed over on rowboats and rafts to hear Obst preach. By now the army was more than halfway to Obann, in a country marred by orchards hewed down and cornfields burned and trampled by the Heathen. The people of Gilmy were hungry. They’d suffered much from raids and incursions and a quick attack against their walls that would have finished them, had the enemy stayed another day. But they’d heard of Helki’s victory over the giant, and they wanted to see the giant-killer for themselves. They lined up to marvel at the giant’s sword, displayed by Uduqu who’d kept it as his trophy.

  When they were settled down, Obst preached to them, telling them of King Ozias’ wanderings in the East and his return to Obann: where, in the cellars under the ruins of the Temple, he wrote new Scriptures and hid them away for a remote posterity. Everyone knew the old stories of the Warrior King who wrote the Sacred Songs, the last anointed king of Obann—of his boyhood in the forest, his adventures as the leader of an outlaw band, and how he regained his throne at last, only to be driven from it by the treason of his enemies. That much they knew, and no more.

  And they, like all the rest of the world, had heard the tolling of Ozias’ bell from the summit of Bell Mountain—heard it, but knew not what it was, nor what it meant.

  “Now, listen to what Ozias himself wrote about the bell,” Obst preached. “It comes from one of the scrolls he wrote in the cellars of Obann.

  “‘For the Lord said to me, I will surely hear the bell when it is rung; and on that day I will set aside My wrath and remember My people of Obann, and all the nations of the earth that dwell in darkness. And on that day I will begin to lift the darkness, and do works unto them such as they have not known, and they will know that I am God.’”

  Obst paused, wiping a tear from his eye. Many of the people listening shed tears themselves, although few of them could have told you why.

  “Look around you, people of Obann,” he said. “These men you see, who bear arms in your defense, entered this country as her enem
ies, as Heathen. But they aren’t heathen anymore.

  “For the Lord your God has done a new thing in the earth. Remember what He promised Prophet Ika: ‘Someday all the nations of the earth shall know Me for their God.’ These men you see are the first fruits of that promise, the pinch of yeast that will leaven the whole loaf—heathen no more, but sons of God.”

  He read some more from the scrolls, then led the people in a prayer and dismissed them with a benediction. It was then, when the people from Gilmy were getting ready to go back to their boats, that Jack and Ellayne received a command from Helki that they didn’t like.

  “Sorry, young ’uns, but I think it’d be best for you to go back to Gilmy with them,” he said. “This army’s going to Obann, and I wouldn’t feel right about taking children there. You’ll be safe in Gilmy; and if any of us come back alive from Obann, we’ll stop for you.”

  “Who are you to tell us that we have to stay behind!” Ellayne cried. Her father would have paddled her for it, had he been there. “You never had any children, and you’re not my father. You can’t do this!”

  “We want to stay and learn everything that’s in the scrolls,” Jack said. “It’s not fair to send us away!”

  Helki shrugged. “I don’t know what’s fair or not,” he said, “but I know that where we’re going is no place for the likes of you.”

  “Martis!” Ellayne called. “Martis, where are you? Come here!”

  He wasn’t far away. He wasn’t much help, either. “I spoke against this,” he told her, “but Helki is the commander of this army, and he has to be obeyed. I’ll stay at Gilmy with you.”

  Jack thought that was one of the stupidest ideas he’d ever heard. “You’re going to leave Martis behind, too?” he said. “It shows how much sense you have! Martis knows the city better than anyone. He can get in and out whenever he likes. You might need him!”

  “I know,” said Helki, “but Martis swore an oath to protect the two of you, and that’s that.”

  “But you’re taking Obst,” said Ellayne, “and he’s an old man!”

  “The army won’t go anywhere without its teacher.”

  “Obst said we could go,” Jack said.

  “He’s changed his mind.”

  Martis looked gravely at the children. “It’s best not to argue,” he said. “Come, it’s time we were going. I’ll take you to say good-bye to Obst.”

  Protesting to Obst didn’t get them anywhere. He was sorry to part with them, but not sorry at all that they wouldn’t be going to Obann, where the Thunder King’s whole host was gathered.

  “But what are we going to do in Gilmy?” Ellayne said.

  “Rest,” said Martis. “Play. Be children, while you can. We’ll find a place to stay. Many of the people are gone, and there are plenty of empty houses. And I’ll find some work to keep us provided for.” The people of Gilmy did not know that the only work he’d ever done in his life was to serve as a spy and an assassin for Lord Reesh.

  As he led them away to the boats, Ellayne asked, “What’s gotten into Helki? He never used to be like this.”

  “What’s gotten into any of us?” Martis said. “Obst never wanted to be anything but a scholar and a hermit, and look at him. You and Jack were just a couple of kids in Ninneburky, and look what you’ve done.

  “Helki would like nothing better in the world than to go back to wandering his forest all alone, talking to the squirrels. He never asked to be the general of an army. He clings to his patched rags and his staff as all that’s left of the man he used to be. Don’t be angry with him.”

  That made some sense, Jack thought. “But what about you, Martis?” he said.

  Martis laughed, not a laugh with much mirth in it. “I don’t want to hold on to anything that’s part of the man I used to be,” he said.

  CHAPTER 21

  The Death-Dog

  Ryons could tell north from south and east from west, but that didn’t help him much. The plain was uninhabited, and he didn’t know exactly in which direction Obann lay. Somewhere to the northwest, that was all.

  Maybe because the people who lived in that country had all deserted it, the plain teemed with life. Cavall caught rabbits, woodchucks, and once a little brown horsey-kind of creature with white stripes and spots. There were more birds than you could count, all different kinds, and big yellow and orange butterflies, and little blue ones, that fluttered above the multitudes of wildflowers. Here and there grew isolated stands of trees, sometimes crowning gently rounded hills; and you never had to travel very far before you came to water. To Ryons, used to the arid steppes of the East, it seemed a land of plenty. A native could have told him that no one had ever seen the country bloom as it had bloomed this summer; but he didn’t meet any natives. Fear of the Heathen had driven them all away.

  “One thing worries me, Cavall,” he said, as they rested beside a water hole. He talked to the dog all the time now. There was nobody else. “I can see we’re drawing near the end of summer, but I don’t know if we’re getting nearer to Obann or farther away. I wish we could find some people.”

  At least, he thought, he was getting better at staying on the horse. Just getting into the saddle was a triumph. He was small for his age, and the saddle was made for a grown man.

  “Oh well, let’s go on,” he said, and once more clambered aboard the horse. Ryons usually got on well with horses, but he had yet to reach a real understanding with this Obannese mare. He started her into a walk and resigned himself to an afternoon of fruitless wandering. But it didn’t turn out that way.

  He hadn’t gone far when the mare suddenly shuddered, neighed, and bolted. He couldn’t make her stop, and it was all Cavall could do to keep up with them. And then the mare jumped a gully, came down hard, and spilled Ryons out of the saddle. He hit the ground and tumbled like a ball, and the horse just kept on going.

  Ryons heard Cavall growling. He sat up, his head spinning. The dog stood beside him, stiff and snarling; and something with a deeper snarl answered.

  When Ryons saw what it was, his head stopped spinning and his heart just stopped. He didn’t know what manner of beast it was, but he didn’t have to know its name.

  It was a big dog, a gigantic dog—much bigger than Cavall, who was big enough to take down an elk by himself. But maybe this thing wasn’t a dog. It had a long, stiff tail and a huge head with two sharp fangs protruding from its jaws: no dog had fangs like that. It was walking toward them slowly, stiff-legged, with slaver drooling from his mouth. It had stiff little pointed ears and big black eyes, and it was tensing its muscles to attack them. Cavall wouldn’t last a minute—Ryons knew that at a glance—and then it would be his turn. This dog was death. Its smooth, slick, dark-brown fur with livid white stripes looked like the color of death.

  Ryons couldn’t move a muscle. Cavall stood by him to defend him. He wouldn’t have a chance.

  But then a louder noise drowned out the growling of the two dogs: a bellow, like the bellow of a bull—if there were bulls as big as mountains.

  Automatically, Ryons turned to see what made it, but all he saw was grass and flowers and a low hill just behind him.

  The death-dog stopped in its tracks, raised its head, sniffed the air and pricked up its ears. It whined—a ridiculous noise from so terrible a beast. And then it wheeled and fled away, faster than a horse.

  The unseen monster bellowed again. The whole landscape was filled with the sound of it. And yet it seemed to Ryons that this giant beast, whatever it was, must be some good distance away. The sound it made was like the sound of an approaching thunderstorm. If it were anywhere nearby, Ryons was sure he’d be able to see it.

  There were only the two bellows, and no more. The countryside seemed to be waiting for more. All the birds had fallen silent; even the crickets and the grasshoppers.

  Cavall sat down beside Ryons, panting. Ryons put his arms around his neck and obeyed an impulse to bury his face in his fur. For now he understood that the dog had been prepared t
o die for him.

  “Good dog! Good dog! You should’ve been a chief among the Ghols!” he said. “But what in the world was that awful thing that chased us? No wonder nobody lives out here!”

  Cavall lay down to rest, still breathing hard. Ryons could feel his heartbeat. He wondered what kind of creature made the noise that scared off the death-dog. But if it were coming their way, Cavall would not be resting with his head pillowed on his paws. Clearly the danger was past.

  “But for how long?” Ryons wondered.

  In Obann Judge Tombo took his midday meal with his friend, Lord Reesh. They dined in Reesh’s private sitting room on silver platters, drinking wine from golden cups. Servants waited on them, but it was Reesh’s custom to dismiss them after they’d brought in all the dishes and poured the wine. “Servants gossip,” he said. The judge didn’t mind. Reesh knew he liked dainty delicacies—crayfish tails on ice, wild pheasant and walnuts, the costliest fruit sherbets for dessert—and saw to it that he got them. The First Prester contented himself with plainer fare, if anything could be called plain that was served on silver or in gold.

  Today Tombo was in a good mood.

  “Finally!” he said. “No more crazy prophets in the streets! It’s been two days since anybody’s seen one—and believe me, my men have been looking for them.”

  He paused to sip more of Lord Reesh’s wine. The First Prester kept the best wine cellars in the city; it would be a sin to guzzle it.

  “I imagine it was the hangings that finally shut them up,” Tombo said. “I knew that’d do the trick in the end. Still, I’m willing to admit that the strong defense of our city makes anyone look like a fool who says we’re about to fall. The barbarians can’t take this city. Everyone can see that now.”