The Fugitive Prince (Bell Mountain) (37 page)

Goryk Gillow waited for news of the conclave.

If the king’s councilors in Obann had their way, if they could get the clergy to agree with them, he would rise high in the favor of the Thunder King. The New Temple would be the only Temple. If the conclave rejected him and elected another First Prester, it hardly mattered. They would never find their way out of the trap he’d laid for them.

He sent messages to Kara Karram to keep his master informed: first by specially trained birds—a secret shared by all the mardars—and then by relay riders. But the success or failure of the plan was his responsibility.

And that fatzing fool, Wusu, was putting it all in jeopardy! Goryk had to wait for news from that quarter, too. If Wusu came to grief in Lintum Forest, it might inspire a mutiny among the troops left at Silvertown. Goryk had asked his master for reinforcements, but they would be a long time getting there. Meanwhile his collection of Wallekki and Griffs and Dahai—not to mention scores of Obannese who’d joined him—went about their duties grumbling, and even deserted in little dribs and drabs. In the absence of Wusu and the Zamzu, they weren’t easy to control. They were Heathen and didn’t care a jot for Goryk’s new chamber house or his pretensions as First Prester.

He kept the people working on the city’s defenses, embellishing the chamber house, and growing crops to feed the army. Silvertown was a mining center, and not much for agriculture. There was never enough food to go around, and the people resented having to feed a Heathen army while they themselves went hungry. Carts came every day with provisions from the east side of the mountains, but only just enough to stave off famine.

He had but one man to confide in, a former Obannese sergeant named Iolo, who’d been drummed out of the service for drunkenness just before the city fell. Goryk made him a captain, and his aide. Since then, oddly, Iolo had given up drinking. It didn’t do much for his temper, and most people in Silvertown took pains to avoid him.

“You shouldn’t worry so much, First Prester,” Iolo said. They were watching the work on the main gate, which was almost finished. For some reason Iolo’s face reminded Goryk of a gnarled tree stump. “Everything’s coming along just fine.”

“Ever since I made assemblies compulsory at the chamber house, more and more people have been sneaking off and not coming back,” Goryk said. Anyone who didn’t attend assembly was whipped. “But in case they send someone from Obann to negotiate, I want them to see a packed chamber house full of people enthusiastically reciting prayers. I’m sure they’ll send someone, sooner or later.”

“Don’t you ever get a bit uneasy, leading those prayers? And you not even ordained?”

Goryk laughed. “If God were going to strike me down for blasphemy, Iolo, He would have done it by now!”

Wytt still hadn’t found the Forest Omah. He needed their help, so he went farther afield to seek them. It never came into his head to explain what he was going to do. One morning he didn’t come when Ellayne called him, and that was that. But they knew he wanted to find the other Omah.

“I guess he’s out looking for them,” Jack said.

“I do wish he wouldn’t just go off without a word,” Ellayne fumed. “I know it’s his way and all, but I’ll never get used to it.”

“Never mind,” Martis said. He was already saddling and bridling Dulayl. “The thing for us to do is to get to Helki’s castle. I don’t like the three of us wandering around by ourselves. It’s dangerous.”

A funny thing for an assassin to say, Jack thought.

Trusting that Wytt would always be able to follow their trail, they resumed their search for Carbonek. They’d been there before, but they were now approaching it from the west and didn’t know the way. Martis hoped to find settlers or hunters who would show them, but so far they hadn’t seen another human being—only footprints here and there. That the makers of the prints never showed themselves put Martis on his guard for enemies.

They hiked all day and made camp, with nothing left for supper except some berries they’d gathered along the way. That was another reason they missed Wytt. He usually found food for them.

They were just getting their fire going when Dulayl, hobbled and tethered to a fallen tree, snorted and whinnied. Out came Martis’ short sword, ready in his hand. He drew it so smoothly, you couldn’t hear a whisper from the sheath.

“Who’s there?” he called. “Show yourselves!”

“That we will, traveler,” someone answered from amid the trees. “But unless you want to get stuck full of arrows before you’re three seconds older, you’d better drop that sword.”

Martis complied; he had no choice. And out of the forest stepped half a dozen men in rags of brown and green, with bows in their hands and arrows ready to let fly. They were obviously outlaws, Jack thought. Helki must not have been able to rid the forest of them all. Or, worse, they’d been able to come back.

“Do you see what I see, Totta?” said one of the bowmen. “A boy with dark hair—looks like we’ve found that lost king everybody’s looking for! The big boss will be pleased.”

“This is not King Ryons!” Martis said. “He’s just my grandson, and his name is Jack.”

But none of the outlaws believed him.

Chapter 45

How Jack Became a King, Almost

As soon as they entered the forest, Mardar Wusu began to have trouble between the Zamzu and the Hosa. And the Obannese outlaws who guided them had trouble with both.

Everyone feared and loathed the Zamzu, eaters of men. The Zamzu knew it, and in their arrogance, taunted the Hosa.

“We are warriors—not old women to be mocked!” Xhama complained to the mardar. “The Zamzu say that when we are deep inside the forest and the food runs out, they will eat us one by one: but they will not eat our hearts because they think we’re cowards. But they will find that our spears are very sharp!”

Wusu despised the thick accent with which the Hosa chieftain spoke Tribe-talk. He despised him for complaining. Wusu was not a fool, but now he behaved like one.

“Can’t you stand a little teasing?” he answered.

“We don’t like being in the forest. You can’t see even a single spear-cast ahead in any direction because of all the trees. It is not a good place to make war.”

“Stop your whining,” Wusu said, “or I’ll feed you to the Zamzu with my own hands.”

He was fool enough to take Xhama’s sullen silence for submission. But Xhama was wise enough to realize that from now on the Hosa would have to take care of themselves because their general didn’t know how to keep good order in an army. “We shall keep good order among ourselves,” he told his men, “and be ready for whatever happens next.”

Traveling swiftly, Helki and his few rangers found the army when it was only two days’ slow march into the forest; and its scouts had not found him. Keeping a safe distance, Helki led his men around the army, to its rear.

“Let’s start a little fire behind them and give them a scare,” he said. “The wind is just right, so they’ll have to hurry to stay ahead of the flames. And it’s going to rain this evening, so we won’t have to worry about burning the whole place down around us.” And to Ryons, “You stick close to me, Your Highness! We don’t want you stumbling into the fire.”

Ryons watched in fascination as the men started a fire and skillfully steered it in the right direction. He’d seen a grass fire once, from which his Wallekki tribe had to flee in much disorder. He’d almost been left behind. But Helki made this forest fire his servant, and by mid-afternoon it was roaring after the Heathen and chasing them deeper into the woods. Angel flew overhead, and by her cries and movements, Helki always knew just where Wusu’s army was.

“How do you do it?” Ryons wondered.

“I know the ways of hawks,” Helki said, “and she was my hawk before I gave her to you. She and I work well together.”

Helki’s little band kept clear of Wusu’s scouts, except for one unlucky outlaw whom Andrus dropped with a well-placed arrow. A little before nightfall it began to rain as Helki had predicted: but the army had toiled hard under the hot sun, and now they would have a late start making camp in the rain.

Helki waited for the rain to stop. In the middle of the night, alone, he crept as close as he dared to the Heathen camp. He moved through the woods like a spirit, unseen, unheard—until he raised his voice and bellowed.

“I’m Helki, the flail of the Lord! And the only men of you who remain in this forest will be dead men. Not I, but the living God, will slay you!”

He fled from his place silently, no man pursuing him, and didn’t stay to observe the commotion that he’d caused in the camp.

Had he stayed, he would have seen Wusu’s outlaw allies swarm into the woods in every direction, cursing and roaring and trying to find him in the dark. He would have seen the Hosa leap to their feet and, by the weak light of their dying campfires, form themselves into a defensive square, spear and shield in every hand. And he would have seen the chiefs among the Zamzu ignore Wusu’s orders and shake their fists and weapons in the faces of the outlaw chiefs.

“This is your fault! Where were your scouts today? Where are they tonight, and what have they been doing? You worse than useless bunch of dung beetles!” That was what the Zamzu said. The outlaws didn’t speak their language, but they knew they were being insulted.

“I will sacrifice the next man who speaks!” Wusu cried. He shoved to the ground the nearest outlaw captain, and the Zamzu laughed. It took him the better part of an hour to restore peace in the camp; and as the scouts came trickling back with nothing to show for their efforts, they received many a poisonous glare from their allies.

A good night’s work, Helki would have said.

The outlaws had food, and they sat around Martis’ fire to enjoy it, after tying Martis’ wrists and ankles. They didn’t share the food with their captives.

“Nice work, us catching the king!”

“I’m not the king!” Jack said, over and over again.

“Tell us another one, Your Highness.”

“You should’ve stayed in Obann, King. Did you like it in your palace?”

No, they didn’t believe Jack for a moment. Ignorant louts, Ellayne thought: all they could think of was the fabulous rewards they were sure to get. They belonged to some outlaw chief named Ysbott, who’d sent his whole following out on a king-hunt.

“I wonder why Helki let the king wander away from Carbonek,” said one of the men. “Maybe he thought we’d be sure to bag him there. But the boss outguessed him this time!” And they all guffawed.