by Lee Duigon
“It would be too bad if God saved this city, and its own people destroyed it. We asked them if they wanted a king, and they said yes! If they’d said no, we’d have all gone back to Lintum Forest.
“These are very foolish people here in Obann. They know it was King Ryons who rode the great beast and scattered their enemies like dust. That was a miracle. Only the power of God could have made it happen.”
He coughed, hard, and it was some moments before he could continue. His shaved scalp gleamed with sweat. The scars on his face were pale against his skin.
“I won’t live much longer,” he said. “I don’t mind. My eyes have seen great things. I’ve taken many scalps, and I have three strong sons. Best of all, I’ve lived long enough to come to know the true God, whose mercy endureth forever. That’s the battle anthem of our army, and I hope it always will be. So I depart with no regrets. Soon I’ll worship God before His face. Even so, I’d like to see these troubles all cleared up before I go. Two things I advise.
“First, let these people see their king more often. Let them hear his voice. Among us Abnaks, great chiefs don’t seclude themselves in palaces. These city folk must see their king and be reminded how he came to them, riding on a giant’s back.
“But also, as soon as may be, send back to Lintum Forest for the little girl who is a prophet. God speaks through her. We’ve all heard this with our own ears. Let Obann hear it, too. Bring her to this city. If nothing else, maybe that filthy bird that follows her around will scare these people to their senses.”
“Yes, yes—he’s right!” In a dozen different languages, the chiefs barked their assent. It was Jandra who’d told them, in a voice that was certainly not her own, that Ryons was to be their king, and king of Obann. It seemed like lunacy at the time, but it had come to pass.
Obst turned to the boy king. “Your Majesty?” he said.
“Oh, yes—bring Jandra!” Ryons answered. Just to hear her name again reminded him how happy he’d been, for the little time he’d lived in Lintum Forest. It made him think of Jandra, who used to toddle after him in play, and of Szugetai, who’d bequeathed his men to him. Szugetai fell in a battle, but it’d be good to see Jandra again. And going back to Lintum Forest would be even better, Ryons thought.
“But we already have a prophet—Nanny Witkom!” This objection came from Zekelesh, chief of the Fazzan—fleet-footed men who wore wolf’s heads when they went into battle. Zekelesh spoke not a word of Obannese, but he was a friend to Nanny Witkom. “Why don’t we ask Nanny what we ought to do?”
Nanny didn’t attend meetings. She spent most of her time now resting in her old rocking chair at the house of the late Lord Gwyll, where she’d been nurse to the general’s children. She wanted to be there when Gwyll’s wife returned. Since the rescue of the city, Nanny had made no prophetic utterances.
“Yes, let’s hear Nanny,” Chief Shaffur said. “Maybe God will speak to us through her, like He did before.”
Zekelesh ran off to fetch her; he knew the way. While they awaited his return, the chieftains discussed the problem posed by the seminary students. “We ought to drive them out of the city—ungrateful dogs!” Shaffur said; but Obst argued against it. “They don’t understand what God has done,” he said. “They need more time.” But he could not say how much more.
Ryons tried to follow the discussion. He didn’t understand much of it, but he did understand that whatever the chieftains decided to do would be done in his name—whether he understood their decision or not.
Wherever he went in the city, his bodyguard went with him—fifty horsemen from the far, far East, Ghols, Szugetai’s men, who addressed the boy king as “father.” Ryons loved them; but lately he’d seen very little love for them in the eyes of people in the city. The same could be said of all the four thousand men of his army. The people of Obann didn’t like them.
“Soon they won’t like me, either,” Ryons thought. But Obst and Jandra both said it was God’s will that he should be king in Obann, and there was no going against that.
His ride on the shoulders of the giant beast seemed like a dream to him now. Sometimes he found it hard to believe that such a thing had really happened.
Zekelesh and a few of his men came back with Nanny Witkom, carrying her in a chair affixed to poles. She looked old and frail, Ryons thought, and half-asleep. Maybe she should have been left alone.
“Nanny, we’re sorry to disturb you,” Obst said, “but the chieftains wish you to inquire of the Lord for them.” He told her about the disturbances in the city, but she didn’t let him finish.
“Yes, yes, I know all about that!” she said, waving him to silence. “Servants tell me everything. The people want their Temple back. They’re afraid God won’t hear their prayers without the Temple.
“But how many times do I have to tell you? I’m not a pump—jerk the handle up and down, and out comes prophecy like water. I know the Lord sent me to you and spoke to you through me while we were marching to the city. I can even remember little pieces of it. But that’s all over now.”
The chieftains fretted, but she paid no heed to them.
“I was dozing in my poor Lord Gwyll’s garden,” she went on, “and I was having such a dream! It was a funny kind of dream—I wasn’t in it. But I dreamed I saw a great hall, as great as anything in Obann—but I don’t know where it was—and in the middle of it was a table. There’s no table like it anywhere. You could drive a horse and a cart down the middle of it. And there were great lamps burning everywhere, a thousand lamps, and the wood of the table shone like polished copper.
“And all around the table there were chiefs, like you, in big, fancy chairs—men in such finery, you could hardly bear to look at it. And at one end of the table sat Lord Reesh, the First Prester. He used to come to Lord Gwyll’s house sometimes, so I knew him right away. And there he was, alive. I didn’t know any of the other people there. Just him.
“They were all feasting and drinking; and behind them, all around the table, there were statues, some of wood, some of stone. They were very queer-looking statues, and I couldn’t tell what they were. Idols, maybe. But it was quite a feast those men were having—and then Zekelesh came along and woke me up, before I could find out what it was all about.” She sighed and closed her eyes. Obst nodded, and Zekelesh’s men carried her out of the council chamber.
“So much for that!” said Shaffur. “We’ll need the little girl, after all, if we’re to have a prophet.”
“I don’t know,” Chief Spider said. “Dreams may often tell us secret things. We Abnaks set great store by them.”
“She dreamed of Lord Reesh,” Obst said. “I do wonder what that could mean, if anything. His bones lie mixed with the rubble of the Temple, and yet she dreamed of him alive.”
Uduqu laughed. “If half of what I’ve heard of that old toad is true,” he said, “then he’s feasting in Hell with all the other sinners!” They all laughed at that; but Ryons noticed that Obst didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile.
CHAPTER 19
Helki on the Trail
Helki and Cavall pressed on, following the Griffs’ trail. Helki set a fast pace, gaining on them day by day. Soon he would see whether they’d crossed the Imperial River or turned northeast to march along the Chariot.
Toward noon one day the hawk, circling overhead, came back to him with a piercing cry. Helki held out his arm and she landed on it.
“Good, Angel, good! Strangers up ahead, eh? Too bad you can’t tell me how many of them.” Whatever men these were, he thought, they were downwind. That was why Cavall hadn’t yet scented them. But Angel saw them: very good, indeed, he thought.
“We’ll creep up on them, careful-like,” Helki told the hound. “I’d like to parley with them. Maybe they’ve seen those Griffs.”
The land rose gently, just ahead, crowned with clumps of waxbush: good cover. Helki sent Angel aloft again, squeezed the scruff of Cavall’s neck to keep him close and quiet, and advanced at a walk. Hi
s feet made no sound. As he neared the top of the rise, he dropped to hands and knees. He crawled just as silently as he walked.
He peered down from the bushes and got a surprise—there were Griffs down there. He knew them by their hairdos: only Griffs took such trouble with their hair. There were only a dozen of them, so they might not be the same Griffs he was following.
“A round dozen,” he muttered. “Shouldn’t be too many for us, Cavall, if they’re in a mood to fight. But talking would be better.” He stood up. “Come on,” he said.
With the big dog loping alongside, and the hawk circling above, Helki strolled down the slope, handling his staff like an ordinary traveler’s walking stick. He spoke Griffish passably, but if these Griffs didn’t wish to talk, he trusted in the eloquence of his staff. When the men looked up and saw him, he waved to them and kept on coming. The Griffs drew swords and knives.
“Rest easy, boys—I come in peace,” he said. The Griffs seemed not to believe him. Cavall growled. But before any blows could be struck on either side, one of the Griffs shouted at his fellows.
“Stop, you fools! Don’t you know who that is? It’s the man who killed the giant! Don’t you remember Shogg, the son of Sezek—that Zamzu man-eater? I was there, I saw it! This man killed Shogg as easy as you’d swat a fly! Haven’t we trouble enough, without picking a fight with him?”
The others were quick to see reason. Shogg had been a legend in the Heathen army, its champion. They thought he was worth fifty ordinary men.
“Relax, I’m not here to fight,” said Helki. “Sheathe your weapons; let’s be friends. You’re going to need friends, if you stay in Obann.”
The Griffs sheathed their blades and honored Helki with salutes and bows, which from them was a pledge of peace. Knowing that they wouldn’t break the truce now, Helki went to their campfire and sat down among them, Cavall beside him.
“Don’t mind my hound,” he said, noting some uneasy glances. “He knows his manners as well as you or I do.”
There were formalities to endure before Helki could bring up the purpose of his visit. These Griffs were uneasy, and it took some time before they were ready to talk.
“I’m looking for two children and a man,” he said, and described Jack, Ellayne, and Martis. Before he could get much farther, he had his answer.
“Those three were our prisoners,” said the man who’d seen his fight with Shogg. “We captured them. Our mardar meant to take them East. But then—!” he shook his head.
The band of a hundred Griffs were now scattered. The God of Obann had struck their mardar blind. If the men had stayed with him, they would have been blinded, too. They’d left the prisoners, wanting nothing more to do with them: indeed, they were afraid of them. Unable to think of any better plan, these dozen men were traveling back to rejoin their army at Obann.
“It’s too late for that,” Helki said. “Your army doesn’t exist anymore: God saw to that.” And he told them how the great beast, with the boy king on its back, routed the host of the Thunder King. Their eyes went wide with fear and wonder.
“Then it’s even as the boy dreamed it, the night Chillith’s eyes were darkened,” said one.
“What shall we do?” cried another. “We’re cursed. Obann’s God is stronger than the Thunder King. He will destroy us all.”
They wailed together, as Griffs sometimes do, and Helki was hard put to quiet them.
“There’s no need to mourn yourselves,” he said. “You’re not dead yet, nor blind, and you don’t have to be. Obann’s God is stronger than the Thunder King, and He’ll take care of him like He took care of Shogg. Don’t think I killed Shogg by my own strength! It was God who killed the giant. Anyone who tries to stand against God isn’t going to stand for long.
“But I have good news for you! Obann’s God is not just Obann’s, but the God of all the nations. And He’s not just strong, but merciful—a lot more merciful than any man. If you turn away from the Thunder King and put your trust in God, and serve Him, God will be merciful to you, too. He’ll accept you as His own. Four thousand Heathen already belong to Him, and they’re mighty glad they do.”
“But how can that be?” a Griff asked. “Why should Obann’s God be merciful to us?”
Helki made a face. “Now you’re asking me to explain things, and I’m no teacher,” he said. “But there’s a teacher in Obann who can teach you all you need to know. In the meantime, you can start serving God right away. You can join up with me and help me: I reckon that’s why the Lord brought us together today. But you’ll have to decide for yourselves.”
Twelve men in a land of enemies, with their great army miraculously destroyed, and their own captain smitten blind, and a divine curse hanging over them—they didn’t need much more encouragement than that. They all stood up and bowed to Helki.
“We are yours to command, Giant-killer,” said one. “From now on, we serve the God of Obann. My name is Tiliqua, son of Thurr, and I give you my word, freely, of my own free will.”
“And I, your honor!” said another.
“And I—Shalamac, son of Thilonoc!”
They all twelve pledged themselves to Helki, and to Obann’s God. They did it with much ceremony. Helki sighed. This was not the kind of thing he’d ever expected to be doing in his life. He’d been happy in the company of hawk and hound, and wanted nothing more. Now he had twelve men who would pester him to make decisions. But he supposed it was what God wanted—no telling why.
CHAPTER 20
Hlah’s Holy Man
Somehow Orth didn’t die. He blundered around and around the fens, not even knowing that he’d crossed and re-crossed the Chariot River. By the grace of God he stumbled upon a deserted cottage, and there he stayed. At least now he had a roof over his head and four walls between himself and the wind—between himself and the unknown, unseen beasts and birds that wailed, roared, shrieked, whistled, and rumbled all day and all night long. At least he hoped they were only beasts and birds, and not devils.
He ate raw eggs when he could find them, raw fish when he could catch them with his hands, the remains of a big cheese that he found in the cottage—but mostly he starved. Every waking moment, he was hungry. Every day he foraged for food around the cottage, never daring to wander out of sight of it. As a city man, ignorant of the wider world, he went hungry where a marsh-man would have found ample food. But Orth knew nothing of trapping, fishing, or digging up edible roots and tubers.
So Hlah, the son of Spider, hurrying up the Chariot, found him late one morning—a trembling scarecrow of mud and filth who screamed when he saw Hlah and tried to flee, but slipped in the mud and fell. He skidded on all fours, moaning, until Hlah grabbed him by the hair and put a stop to that.
“Here, now, stop that noise!” Hlah shook him. “I won’t hurt you! But who are you, and what’s the matter with you?”
Orth goggled at him with fearful eyes, and Hlah knew he was talking to a madman. “Can you tell me your name?” he asked.
Orth hadn’t been in the fens long enough to forget his name, nor what he used to be. But this stranger was a savage, with a shaved head and tattoos all over his skin: a barbarian who was likely to kill him, no matter what his name was. But Orth didn’t want to speak his own name. He didn’t want to utter it ever again. An angel might be listening.
“Leave me alone!” he answered. “God’s curse on me! The slaughter-angel is hunting for me. Go away!”
Hlah saw the cottage, pointed to it. “Is that where you live?” Orth nodded. Hlah helped him to his feet. “Let’s go sit in your cabin and have a bite to eat.” He’d learned to speak good Obannese, and the madman understood him.
“Don’t be afraid of me,” he said, as he pushed Orth toward the cottage. “I’m King Ryons’ man: he’s king in Obann now.” But at those words Orth broke down with shudders, and Hlah couldn’t keep him on his feet.
Abnaks make shamans of their madmen, and for as long as they are harmless to others, treat them well. It never
entered Hlah’s mind to harm this madman. Besides, he was Heathen no more, and he’d been taught that violence and cruelty offended God. Even so, it took all of his patience to maneuver Orth into the cottage and set him down on the rough bed he found there. Then Orth began to blubber like a child, so Hlah shook him by the beard and had to slap him once.
“Talk like a man!” he said. “And tell me your name.”
“I won’t!” Orth shook his head. “I dare not. I will never speak my name again.”
“Won’t you tell me anything?”
“Let everything about me be forgotten!” Orth said.
Hlah shrugged. It was no use arguing with a madman. “Under those rags you wear,” he said, “and under all that mud, you’re skin and bones. You don’t know how to take care of yourself. If I go away and leave you, you won’t live to see the winter.”
“Better, that way,” Orth said. “God’s curse on me!”
Wishing to do the man a kindness, Hlah gave him a drink from his waterskin and a strip of jerky from his bag. Orth gnawed it like a wolf. Hlah gathered some wood and built a fire in the cabin’s little hearth. He gave the poor madman the last of the bread he was carrying, too. Tomorrow he would have to hunt. Finally he wet a rag and wiped several layers of mud from the man’s face. Kindness to strangers, Obst taught, pleased God. It made a change from scalping them, thought Hlah.
“Will you tell me why a curse is on you?” he asked.
“I cannot.”
“You don’t know?”
“Oh, I know!” Orth said, gnashing his teeth. “I’ve sinned great sins.”
What should he do with the man? Hlah pondered it all day, and on into the evening. Just before it was time to curl up in his bag and go to sleep, he decided.
“Hear me, whatever your name is,” he said. “I can’t just leave you here to die, but I’m on my way to Abnak country. I have to go there so I can teach my people to worship the true God—we shouldn’t be heathens anymore. So I suppose I’ll have to take you with me and hope your wits come back to you along the way. Maybe you can help me teach my people. You’re Obannese. You must know more about God than I do.”
