The Thunder King (Bell Mountain) Page 13

  “My servant will tell you when I have my answer for you, Mardar.”

  Kyo bowed. “Then our business for this night is concluded,” he said. “We will meet again.”

  “Yes,” said Reesh: “one more time, at least.”

  When Kyo departed, escorted by Gallgoid, and he was left alone in the little chamber with Lord Reesh, Orth never felt more alone in all his life. He took pride in his wisdom; but now, when he needed it most, it deserted him. He stood like a fool struck dumb, while Lord Reesh sank into his chair, pale and sweating.

  “My lord First Prester!” Orth said. “This upsets all our plans. What are we to do?”

  Reesh shook his head. “No,” he said. “No—it doesn’t overthrow them, but it changes them.” Orth could barely hear him, and had to lean over him to catch his words. “I said it was madness, but now I see there’s reason in it. The Thunder King has a deep and subtle mind, deeper than I thought.

  “He knows he cannot go back on his spoken word and still be a god among the Heathen. But he also knows that merely destroying the Temple is not enough. He must destroy the Temple, and yet he must preserve it. Yes, there’s reason in it.”

  “But surely, Excellency—”

  “Be silent!” Reesh snapped at him, and there was fire in his eyes. Orth stepped back, alarmed. “Don’t be a fool! Is there anything that matters but the survival of the Temple? And this is survival—the only kind of survival we can get.”

  “But, Excellency, they have tried and tried to take the city, with nothing to show for it but dead warriors—”

  “They will take the city!” Reesh snarled. “They will! They’ve dug a ditch around it, and soon they’ll put up walls, and no food, no men, will be able to get in to us. They can easily stop all traffic on the river. Sooner or later they will starve us out. And there will be pestilence among us, too, if history is any guide.

  “Obann will fall. Nothing can save the city. Do you think I’d stoop to dicker with barbarians if there was any hope for us? There is no hope!”

  “But, my lord,” said Orth, “how can we trust these Heathen to keep their word to us? Once they’re inside the walls, what’s to stop them from killing us along with everybody else? Why should they honor any promises, once they have what they want?”

  Lord Reesh did not like to be wrong about people. He’d chosen Orth as his successor because he was sure of him. Now doubt crept into his mind. Maybe if he leaned too hard on Orth for support, the man would break. Yet he had no one in mind to take Orth’s place: it was too late to find someone else.

  “It’s time we went to bed,” he said. “There is only one choice open to us, but we needn’t make it hastily. We must choose so that long after we’re dead and gone, there will still be the Temple. I thought you understood that.”

  What Orth understood best of all was that he didn’t want to die at the hands of men like Mardar Kyo, or be burned to death in the destruction of the Temple. Indeed, that was all he understood.

  “I do, my lord First Prester,” he said. “I do.”

  Soon the army would have to cross the river, somehow. Helki had his scouts out looking for boats, but there weren’t many to be had. The Heathen had taken most of them to Obann.

  More important than boats, the scouts were on the lookout for any sign of movement by the enemy. Having sent out one army against him, it stood to reason that they’d send another. Yet as far as the scouts could tell, every man of them was now on the north side of the river, sitting in siege around Obann.

  Helki conferred with the chieftains. Having left their big black tent behind at the castle, they held their council in the open air, after another day’s march.

  “If we press ourselves a little,” Helki said, “we can be at Obann in another three days—or at least across the river from it. But I’m thinking maybe we ought to delay our crossing, maybe pass the city by as if we were headed for someplace much farther down the river. Maybe not cross until we’re quite a good ways west of the city, and then approach it from that direction.”

  “That only puts it off,” said Shaffur, frowning.

  “We should have brought the little girl with us,” Chief Zekelesh said. “We need a prophet to tell us what we ought to do.”

  They were all discontented because they didn’t know what next to do and Helki couldn’t tell them, nor had Obst found any answer in the scrolls.

  “My lords and brethren,” said Obst, “I understand your trouble. We’ve come so far from our safe place in Lintum Forest, but God has given us no sign by which we might know what to do. Therefore we must wait for one.”

  “We might be able to recruit some more men farther west,” said Hennen, captain of the spearmen from Caryllick.

  “Not enough to matter!” Shaffur said.

  “What kind of sign might God send us, old man?” Spider, chief of the Abnaks, asked. “Or are we to wait until old age does to me what none of my enemies could do?”

  Obst could only shrug. He knew the Scriptures, but nothing of the art of war.

  “God will find a way to speak to us, so that all will understand,” he said. “We must trust in Him.”

  “Well, it’s too late to stop trusting Him now,” said Spider. “We’re like a badger that has come out of his hole and gone too far to get back—and yet he knows a bear is stalking him.”

  His son, Hlah, said, “Yes, Father—but badgers can bite, and so can we.”

  This saying lightened the chieftains’ mood, and in the end they decided to pass by Obann and not cross the river until they’d marched much farther west.

  “It might at least give the bear something to think about,” Helki said.

  CHAPTER 24

  Runaways

  There are ruins of ancient ports along the Great Sea, but no inhabited cities. In the dim chaos following the destruction of the Empire, people stopped living in cities by the sea, and never came back. The Commentaries are silent as to the reason why. It can only be said that Obannese people dread the sea and will not live within sight of it.

  Going downriver, Durmurot was the westernmost of the great cities of Obann. It stood a few miles east of where the river broke up into many streams, each seeking its own way to the sea. Men ventured into the North Mire and the South Mire, on either side of the river delta, to trap muskrat and mink and collect turtles for rich men’s soup; but no towns or farms were to be found west of Durmurot.

  Lord Gwyll’s son had his country house a day’s journey upriver from Durmurot, and that was where Rhianna went with Nanny Witkom and the rest of her servants. There she prayed three times a day for the safety of her husband and for victory in his defense of the city. It was a pleasant place, with red tile roofs and white stucco walls, a showplace garden, and stables for horses and carriages. But Nanny didn’t like it there, and didn’t stay.

  The third day after their arrival, she was sitting in the sun beside a pond full of ornamental fish and lily pads, when she heard a deep, sonorous voice gently calling her name.

  “Here I am, Lord,” she said, for she knew it was the voice of no mortal man. It was a voice that wrapped around you like a down quilt comforter on a winter night.

  “You are old, my child,” said the voice, “but you are not yet out of strength, and I will give you more strength as you need it. My child, will you go back to Obann, if I ask?”

  “Gladly, Lord!”

  “Then go, Nanny. And I shall be with you.”

  That was all. Nanny for a few moments went short of breath. A few yards away, one of the gardeners was pruning a cherry tree. He must not have heard anything. Had she fallen asleep sitting up and had a dream?

  “Poppycock!” she said to herself. “I know what a dream is, and that was no dream.” Besides, they’d told her often enough that she had “spells,” as they called them, in which she would carry on and say things she ought not to say, thinking she was a prophet speaking messages from God. That was why they’d had to take her away from Obann.

 
Nanny never remembered anything she said or did during one of her spells, but this experience she would remember—“Burned if I don’t!” She didn’t care if the gardener obviously hadn’t heard the voice. She had, and she would obey.

  How easy it was to fool them all and sneak away! Nobody paid any attention to her. Rhianna, poor thing, was distracted by worry for her husband; she wouldn’t be herself until she felt Gwyll’s arms around her once again. Allyk had enlisted as a captain in the Durmurot militia and was not at home much, and his servants had no interest in their master’s old nanny from Obann. To them she was only a feeble old lady with her wits a little addled.

  But she was not as feeble as all that. In fact, she felt quite a bit better now than she had for months. So it was a simple matter for her to assemble a bag of provisions and spare clothes without anybody noticing, and select a donkey from the stables—Allyk could well spare it—and take off early in the morning before anyone else was up.

  The way to Obann was an easy one. All you had to do was follow the road that ran parallel to the river. Nanny had no fear of getting lost, and there were no robbers in this civilized part of the country. All she had to do was ride the donkey and find shelter for the night at the most likely-looking farmhouse.

  “Ah! But what if they come after us, to bring us back?” she said to the donkey. “Well, my sweet, it’ll be all day before they even notice poor old Nanny’s gone; and then they won’t know where to look. And if they come this way, asking questions, who’s going to remember seeing us? Besides which, we’re on the Lord Almighty’s business, you and I. He won’t let them stop us.”

  Nanny had always liked donkeys and was perfectly contented with the company of this one. What with the fine weather and the cooling promise of an early autumn in the air, she asked for nothing better than what her God had given her. She didn’t even ask what she was to do when she got back to Obann.

  Jack and Ellayne took Ham, their donkey, with them when they ran away from Gilmy. But unlike Nanny Witkom, they didn’t use the road.

  “There’ll be Heathen riders galloping up and down the road all day, that’s for sure,” Jack said. “This is a dumb enough thing to be doing, without asking to be captured.”

  “Well, our army will have to cross the river sometime soon,” Ellayne said. “We ought to be able to find them when they do—if they don’t find us first.”

  Jack couldn’t think of much to say. Even if Helki had been wrong to make them stay behind in Gilmy, that didn’t make it right for them to go skipping off by themselves into a country full of enemies.

  It was one thing to go to Bell Mountain because you had to go, it was God’s will. God had sent them to Old Obann, too, to find the scrolls; and for that adventure they’d had Martis with them. Now they were out here with no Martis and no word from God, out on their own because they thought it was too dull in Gilmy. It didn’t feel right.

  “Will you cheer up!” Ellayne said.

  Wytt, standing on Ham’s shoulders, chattered at her, wanting to know when White-face would be joining them. That was his name for Martis.

  “He’ll come when he can, Wytt,” she said. Somehow the little hairy man understood every word she or Jack spoke to him, although he could never learn to speak a single word of any human language. And since they came down from Bell Mountain, she and Jack could understand him. “You just keep your nose in the air to sniff out trouble.”

  “Like there’s any place to hide, if trouble comes!” Jack said.

  “There’s a couple of trees up ahead,” said Ellayne. “You can climb one and see if you can spot the army. It’ll give you something to do besides complaining all the time.”

  He grumbled under his breath, but not so she could hear him.

  Martis worked all day with the men of Gilmy, digging the moat around the town. When he came home, the children weren’t there.

  At first he thought they must be playing somewhere nearby. He stood in the doorway and called them. “Jack! Layne! Come home for supper!”

  When they didn’t answer, he went to the neighborhood stable to see to his horse, Dulayl; and when he discovered that Ham was gone, he realized that the children were gone, too.

  He should have expected it. They wanted to be with the army; they didn’t want to stay in Gilmy. “Didn’t want to” was putting it too mildly, he thought. They hated being left behind—especially Ellayne.

  All thought of supper banished from his mind, he saddled Dulayl and trotted to the bend in the river where the town’s boats were moored.

  “Have two children been here today to take a boat across the river?”

  “’Course not!” said the man who minded the boats. “Those two grandkids of yours don’t own a boat, and I wouldn’t let them have anybody else’s.”

  “Thank you!”

  Martis stopped at the house to collect his traveling gear and weapons, and snatch a bite to eat. Jack and Ellayne must have run off into the west, hoping to meet the army when it crossed the river—as it must do, soon, if Helki was going to Obann.

  His heart was sick. Even if all the servants of the Temple had been chased back into the city—and that was by no means certain—the children would not be much better off if they were captured by the Heathen. Some of those nations practiced human sacrifice, and all of them took slaves.

  As he spurred out of Gilmy, hoping to pick up the children’s trail before night fell, he couldn’t help reflecting on the ironies of life. Once upon a time he’d set out from Obann, traveling east, to capture these same two children for Lord Reesh—or kill them, if that was the only way to stop them from ringing King Ozias’ bell. Now he was traveling west, back toward Obann, to save them if he could.

  “Or else die trying,” he vowed to himself.

  CHAPTER 25

  Captured by the Heathen

  Ryons continued to wander due west, not knowing when he ought to turn north. He prayed for guidance, but no guidance came.

  From time to time he would hear the great, musical bellow from afar; and when it came, Cavall would prick up his ears and trot nervously, whining and trying to speak.

  “I do wish you could talk!” Ryons said. To him the idea of a dog talking was not so strange: among the Wallekki there were stories of horses and hunting falcons that could speak. “We’ve been hearing that noise for days now. This country must be full of giant animals calling to each other. Why haven’t we seen one?”

  Cavall barked. The sound of the bellow died away. Blackbirds, who had stopped, resumed their song. Insects chirped and buzzed. Cavall relaxed his ears and sat down. He looked disappointed.

  “Hey!” said Ryons. “Do you know what I just thought? What if it’s not a lot of great big animals, but only one of them—following us, but never coming close enough so we could see it? What if God sent it to keep the death-dogs away from us?”

  It was a comforting thought—too bad there was no way to know if it was true. But hadn’t that first bellow driven off the death-dog? And hadn’t God promised to protect him? Certainly—Ryons remembered Jandra saying so.

  “We’re not alone out here, after all,” he said to Cavall. “There might be all kinds of terrible beasts in this country, but they’re staying out of our way. If only we could find some people!”

  They resumed their journey, now slanting a little bit into the north. No one had ever taught Ryons about maps. The Wallekki didn’t make maps; they just remembered where things were and how to get there. But there was no one in Obann who could have given him a map of the Southern Wilds. Beyond a certain point, no one ever went there. Whatever countries lay any distance south of Obann, no one knew.

  The truth was that in trekking west Ryons had, without noticing it, veered too far to the south. Now he was correcting for it, but the lost miles would not be easily made up. He didn’t know that. All he knew was that he was lost, and that without Cavall to hunt game and find water for them, he would have died.

  Helki’s army passed the ruins of Old Obann
without encountering a single enemy. That the enemy was watching him, he had no doubt; but no troops had been sent to challenge him.

  “Quite a heap, isn’t it?” he said to Obst, pointing to the ancient ruins. “Makes you wonder how such a great city could come to that. And I wonder if the same thing will happen to Obann on the north bank of the river.”

  A low, brown, sprawling mountain—that’s what the ruins looked like, from the high ground traversed by the army: but a mountain broken, shattered into piled rubble.

  “It was the seat of Obann’s Empire—the ancient city, where the first great Temple stood: Ozias’ city,” Obst said. “But it wasn’t human hands that pulled it down. It was the wrath of God. He pronounced judgment against the Empire, and in the blink of an eye, all of Obann’s great cities were destroyed. How, the Commentaries do not say.”

  “I’ve been to a few of those cities,” Helki said. “You see some funny things there.” He meant tunnels full of human bones, slabs of stone as broad and smooth as frozen ponds, and iron staircases that went nowhere: things like that. “But the Little People like it there.”

  “It was prophesied of old that the hairy ones would live and dance their dances there,” said Obst.

  The army marched by Obann fast, with scouts thrown out in all directions. Their reports were all the same: the Heathen sat in siege against Obann, every man of them.

  “Wonder where they think we’re going,” Helki said to Chief Spider.

  “They don’t care where we’re going. They’ll deal with us later, after they’ve sacked the city,” said the old Abnak. He sighed. “I left my hills to be a part of that! The sack of Obann would have made every man famous who fought there: something for your children’s children to sing songs about. And now I’ve come this close, and I can’t even see the place.” They were too far off to see the new city as anything but a blur on the far side of the river.