The Thunder King (Bell Mountain) (7 page)

The council wanted to know how Obann’s troops had performed in the battle, their level of morale and execution of maneuver.

“They did as well as can be expected, given that some units haven’t yet completed their training,” Gwyll said. “But the cavalry needs work: the Wallekki rode rings around them. Thank God our infantry was strong. The enemy line crumpled as soon as the first rank of our spearmen hit it, and after that, they all lost heart and fled. It was more of a pursuit than a battle.”

“How did the new crossbow unit do?” Lord Davensay asked. He was in charge of commerce, but took an amateur’s interest in military matters.

“They’ll do better firing down from the walls with battlements to lean on. Longbows are better for fending off cavalry.”

“One expects barbarians to fold when they come up against trained and disciplined troops,” Judge Tombo said. Next to him, Lord Reesh sat looking at his own hands folded in his lap. He hadn’t said a word.

“My lord, they can afford to lose ten men for every man we lose,” Gwyll said. “They mean to put our city to the siege, and be assured that they will do it. They have excellent siege machinery, and plenty of it: too much for the walls of Cardigal. Those machines throw fire. Our whole populace must be organized into fire-fighting districts. This work is in progress, but it is not yet done.”

“My men will have the people ready in time,” Tombo said.

“For all our sakes, I hope so,” Gwyll said. “My lords, the army we defeated today arrived too far ahead of the others and was punished for it. We won’t be able to take the field when they outnumber us ten to one or worse. We’ll stand or fall by our walls and our defense of them—and by our fire-fighting teams.”

That took the smiles off all their faces. Lord Ruffin had the final question.

“When do you think they’ll be here in force, General?”

Gwyll had studied his scouts’ reports. “In four or five days at the soonest, Governor-general,” he said. “A week at most.”

Ruffin glared at Tombo. “Get those fire-fighting teams in order!” he said. Judge Tombo nodded.

Now that they had actually seen it in the distance, Jack’s party pressed on all the harder for Lintum Forest. They set out earlier in the morning, made fewer stops to rest, and didn’t camp until the sun had almost set.

Ivor from Cardigal didn’t especially want to go to Lintum Forest.

“Everybody knows it’s full of bandits, not to mention wolves and bears,” he said. “There must be some quiet little town, away in the south, where we can sit out the war.”

“We have friends in Lintum Forest,” Martis said.

“You don’t have to come with us if you don’t want to,” Jack said.

But Ivor was afraid of the giant birds; he wouldn’t travel the plains without company if he could help it. “Don’t see why you can’t make new friends somewhere else,” he grumbled. They had not, of course, told him anything about the ancient scrolls of Scripture they were carrying.

He went on and on, too, about the Heathen magic and how hopeless it was to fight against it. “They’re going to burn down Obann City and that’s that!” he said. “Just like they did to Cardigal. I wonder whose faces those were in the fireballs. Devils, most likely.”

“There’s only one devil,” Martis said.

“You didn’t see the fireballs. If they weren’t devils, then I guess they must’ve been demons. You should’ve seen our chamber house burn!”

“What rot!” Jack said. “Any building’ll burn down if it catches fire and no one puts it out. That’s not magic.”

“It’s not magic, and the chamber houses aren’t holy,” Martis said. He knew that better than anyone, although he wouldn’t tell Ivor how he knew. He used to believe there was no such thing as holiness; but having been to the summit of Bell Mountain, he was now a wiser man on that score. But holiness, he now knew, was to be found in the presence of God: it had nothing to do with the Temple or the chamber houses. That presence, he had learned, was everywhere. He was a young man, but it had turned his beard snow-white.

And as they talked and plodded ever eastward, King Ryons in Lintum Forest had secretly collected a few things he would need and wrapped them in a stolen bandana, to be carried with him on the day he ran away.

He was careful. He’d been a slave long enough to learn how to do things without being seen. If slaves didn’t steal food from time to time, they’d never have enough to eat; but if you were caught, it meant a beating.

So he almost fainted that morning when Jandra came toddling up to him, looked right through him as if he weren’t there (and yet looked into him deeper than anybody ever looked), and in a voice that was nothing like her own, said:

“Seed of Ozias, who are to be King of Obann, I have chosen you and I am with you. I chose you before I shaped you in your mother’s womb; I knew you by name while King Ozias was still among the living.

“Wherever you go, I am with you; whatever you do, I shall protect you. For you shall look down on your enemies from on high, and they shall flee before your face. A host shall scatter itself before you. I shall set you in a high place where no one has ever been set before, and make you a conqueror before you come of man’s estate. Behold, the Lord has spoken it.”

And then, as she always did after one of those outbursts, her legs gave out and she sank to the ground in a deep sleep; and that horrible toothed bird that followed her everywhere let out a shriek that froze King Ryons’ blood.

“Oh, shut up!” Ryons snarled at it. For once there was no one else in earshot—no one to pick up Jandra and take care of her. But if he called anyone to come over, they’d see how she was and they’d want to know what prophecies she’d spoken to him. They’d find out about his plan to run away, and stop him.

“Unless you run away right now!” he muttered to himself.

The day was hot and sultry, and it wasn’t yet noontime. The men and women working on the castle, in the fields, and building houses for the winter moved like they were half-asleep. The first cicadas of the summertime were singing in the treetops, and no one was paying any attention to him at all. Even his Ghols were lazing away the morning.

Well, why not? Today was as good a day as any.

Ryons crept off to his secret hiding place, took up his sack of food and tinderbox and extra clothes, and used all his slave’s stealth to sneak out of the encampment and into the encircling woods.

The cool, dark shadows swallowed him up without a sound.

It wasn’t long before the men of the bodyguard missed their king and began to look for him. But they weren’t worried.

“He’s playing with us,” said Chagadai, with a grin. “He’s hiding somewhere, thinking we can’t find him. I used to play that game myself, when I was a boy.”

“How hard did your father look for you?” joked one of the men.

Rather than send up an alarm, they searched the castle for him. This took longer than expected; it was a big castle, full of possible hiding places. One of the men found a way into the cellars, an entrance that no one else had yet discovered, and so they had to search underground, too, in the dark. Chagadai had torches fetched and led the search himself. A son of the high steppes, where people lived in felt tents on portable willow frames, he’d never been in such a place before.

“It stinks down here,” someone complained. “The king wouldn’t hide in a stinking place like this.”

“Weren’t you ever a boy?” Chagadai snapped. “A boy would love it here.”

They sloshed and blundered around the cellars until midafternoon, but couldn’t find their king. Nor could the boy be found anywhere in the castle above-ground.

“Well, now, this won’t do!” said Chagadai, when they were outside again, blinking in the brightness of the summer day. “Why weren’t one of you watching him?” But of course each man had assumed the boy was with someone else. At last Chagadai went to Helki.

“We can’t find the king,” he said. “He must have stolen off into the forest and got lost. We Ghols are useless in the woods. Your people had better find him.”

“Gave you the slip, did he?” Helki said. “Well, boys will do that.”

Helki and some of his woodsmen tried to pick up Ryons’ trail. They soon found Jandra asleep in the shade of a broken wall, her bird standing guard over her. There Helki studied the ground and found the start of Ryons’ trail.

“This is it. He was here,” he said. “But let’s wake Jandra first.”

He knelt beside the child, raised her, and gently brushed her hair from her face. The bird rattled its dull purple feathers, but didn’t interfere. It knew Jandra thought of Helki as her daddy and loved him.

“Wake up, peeper, Daddy wants you,” he said. After a few moments she yawned, opened her eyes, and smiled at him.

“Daddy want to play?”

“Not now, sweet. Daddy wants Ryons. Where is he?”

She looked all around, and frowned. “Ryons go away?” she said.

“Take her to Abgayle,” Helki ordered one of the young men. “Find Obst; tell him what’s happened. The rest of you, come with me.”

Settlers said Helki could follow the trail of a butterfly. He tracked Ryons easily enough. The trail led into the forest, away from the encampment. After a while it led into some swampy ground where the seeping water made the spoor difficult to follow.

“He’s got a four hours’ start on us,” Helki said, “and there’s about four hours of daylight left.”

“What did he want to run away for?” said a woodsman.

“Don’t be simple. He didn’t want to be a king. It scared him silly. And kids like to explore the woods, unless there’s something wrong with them.” Helki sighed. “I should’ve expected this. For two sniffs of a roasted rabbit, I’d run off, too.”

It took them some time to pick up Ryons’ trail beyond the watery tract. Before they could follow it much farther, a runner from the castle caught up to them.

“The chieftains want you back at the camp,” he told Helki. “Obst wants you, too. The rest of us’ll track the lad.”

Helki glared at him. The young man shrugged.

“We all know you could do the job easy enough without us,” he said, “but the old man said I was to insist. We ought to be able to catch up to the king. He won’t know how to cover up his trail.”

“Then I guess I’d better go!” Helki said; so easy, he thought, for a man to lose his freedom. He turned to a tall, dark-haired youth in green who was eighteen years old today. “I’m putting you in charge, Andrus. You’re the best tracker I have. Find the boy.”

“We’ll find him,” Andrus said. “You’ve taught us well.”

The chieftains were gathered in their big black tent—taking it seriously, Helki thought. They sat in a half-circle on their stools, with the king’s place conspicuously vacant. Obst was there, too, pacing, too upset to sit down. Abgayle sat apart with Jandra in her lap.

“You haven’t found him?” said Shaffur, chief of the Wallekki.

“Not yet,” Helki said. “I’d still be tracking him myself if you hadn’t called me back. You should’ve let me stay out there.”

“We’ve had a report from the scouts,” Shaffur said. “The plain is empty now: all the armies have marched past Lintum Forest. One of the cities on the river has fallen and been burned down: Cardigal, I think. They’re making all speed for Obann.”