by Lee Duigon
“Amen!” said Orth. Inwardly, he was glad the great battle was delayed. “I am a man of peace,” he thought. “I’ll never get used to war.” But there could be no peace as long as the Thunder King’s Zamzu remained in the country. And down in the lowlands, Foxblood said, the Zamzu would have Wallekki cavalry to help them. Even a man of peace could see that the Zamzu’s retreat had made things harder for the Abnaks.
What neither Orth nor Foxblood knew was that they had a secret ally that preyed on King Thunder’s forces in the south—rumor.
Down from the north, filtered through the lips of wanderers and traders, and distorted by each man in his turn, came rumor of a great invasion launched by the king of Obann—the same king who’d destroyed the mightiest army ever raised in the East. Some said he came riding on a great beast that was like a walking mountain; others, that he commanded a host that was like the blades of grass in number. Rumor reported that he came with certain death for all who opposed him. Rumor had it that the great God of Obann went before him like a tempest, a black cloud, full of lightning, that blotted out the sky. Rumor credited him with battles never fought, victories never won, and wrath insatiable. And many of King Thunder’s men believed the rumors and feared the conquering king of Obann.
Ryons’ chieftains would have laughed aloud, could they have heard even the mildest of rumor’s imaginary terrors.
But they were on a hilltop with enemies on two sides, and didn’t laugh at all.
CHAPTER 39
The Next King of Obann
They hadn’t gone far before Wytt darted into the underbrush and disappeared.
“Where’s he off to now?” said Trout.
“He’s looking for trouble,” Jack said. “It’s always better for him to find it before we do.”
A trick of the wind had brought Ysbott’s scent to him, and Wytt ran after it. Ysbott should have been far away by now, but he wasn’t. He was coming closer.
A man would have told the others where he was going before he left them, but Wytt just acted. There were many men and horses coming up the road. Even the dull humans knew that. But Ysbott was coming, too, not far behind the horses. Had Martis and Trout not found a path deeper in the woods and farther from the road, the two parties would have met. Now they would pass each other, just a little ways apart. Wytt thought that was funny and bared his teeth in a grin. You might have thought he was scowling, but it was only Omah laughter.
Meanwhile, Martis kept the children moving.
“What if Wytt can’t find us again?” Fnaa asked.
“Don’t worry,” said Ellayne. “He always finds us.”
When the camp changed hands, and Roshay Bault led his militia down the road, Ysbott was amazed.
“He’s surrendered the gold!” he whispered to his two companions. “I never thought he’d prove a coward! Why didn’t he fight for it?”
“How could he?” Gwawl answered. “Those people would have wiped him out. I wonder who they are.”
“I thought they might be the Thunder King’s men,” Ysbott said, “only they never would have let Bault go. It may take a while to find out who they are.”
When Chutt’s army broke down the barricades and pushed into the camp, Ysbott crept a little closer—close enough to hear the tumult when Chutt’s men started fighting over the gold.
“Who are they fighting?” Hrapp said. “Who’s there for them to fight?”
They heard loud cries and the clash of weapons. “They must be fighting among themselves,” said Ysbott. “Good! Maybe they’ll kill themselves off.” But it didn’t go on long enough for that. It sounded like there were plenty of them left alive, and Ysbott dared not advance any closer.
“Somehow we will profit by this,” he thought. Then he shot a glance at Hrapp and Gwawl and corrected “we” to “I.”
It was Ilfil who quelled the mutiny, with help from Captain Born. The Wallekki chieftain waded into the melee and hacked off a man’s head—one of his own tribesmen. Roaring, he held it up by the hair. The fighters lowered their weapons.
“You sons of dogs! You fools! Must I behead you all? Put down your weapons!”
Born clubbed a soldier who was slow to obey. He put a shoulder to another man and knocked him down. The fighting ceased.
“Do you see this man—Lord Chutt!” Ilfil cried. Chutt stood alone beside the stack of gold. He’d never been in a fight in his life and didn’t want to start now. “Without him, we are nothing—like a snake without a head. Do you see the gold? This gold shall make him king of all Obann, and us his favored men!
“Come to your senses! We can’t go home again, to be killed off by the Thunder King. We’re here in Obann now and here we’ll stay—either as masters of Obann, or leaderless outlaws to be picked off one by one or two by two. The whole country is ours for the taking. But not if we behave as jackals fighting over the carcass of a camel!
“On your knees, you dogs! Do homage to Lord Chutt—King of Obann!”
This stunned them, and at first nobody moved. But then, three or four at a time, and then together, the men dropped to their knees and raised their hands.
“Chutt! Chutt! King of Obann!” They chanted, making a noise like stormy surf. Chutt drew his sword and held it high. When he could finally be heard, he addressed his troops.
“My lord Chief Ilfil speaks the truth. With all this gold, and with the swords that it will buy for us, and the friendship of great men, Obann is ours—but only if we all stick together and conduct ourselves wisely. If you break up into smaller bands, you’ll only be hunted down by armies and killed for the gold.
“Why fight among ourselves? There’s more than enough gold here for each and every one of you—much more than enough. But first we have to bring it down from the mountain, and then we’ll have to work very hard to keep it. You can leave all the complicated business to me. I’ll never fail you there. But you men are my sword, my bodyguard—you must not fail me! United, we shall stand. Divided, we must fall. Are you with me? Are we all united in this enterprise?”
“We are! We are! Lord Chutt, King of Obann!”
The chiefs put the men to work removing the dead bodies from the camp and slaying a few men too badly wounded to be saved. Ilfil said they were dogs and rebels who didn’t deserve a proper burial, so the crows got them. The Wallekki believed the ghosts of men left unburied would be blown away on the wind and find no rest forever. Those who threw the bodies into the woods went about it with grim looks on their faces. All told, a hundred men or so had died in the brief riot. It could have been worse, Chutt thought.
As order was established in the camp, Chutt took Ilfil aside.
“I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me today, my lord,” Chutt said. “I’ll make you the commander of all my armies, Lord General of Obann.”
“I am yours,” said Ilfil. “But also you are mine, my lord! Remember that.”
“We shall grow old as the rulers of Obann,” said Chutt. It wasn’t quite what he had planned for, but he would learn to live with it.
If Helki had known that Ysbott the Snake was in a hiding place just across the road, that would have been the end of Ysbott. But Helki didn’t know, even though a blue jay and a cowbell-bird were loudly protesting Ysbott’s presence. On a quieter day Helki would have heeded them and tried to find out what was disturbing them. Today he thought they were just responding to the tumult in the camp.
So now this high councilor of Obann, whoever he was, had the gold. He’d let Roshay Bault depart unharmed. To Helki, that was the most puzzling part of it: “No brigand chief would have done that,” he thought. Maybe the high councilor and the baron had reached an understanding.
Roshay would be loyal to King Ryons—no doubt of that. Which meant, Helki thought, that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt the king. As strange as it seemed, it must mean that the baron had judged that handing over the gold to this great lord would not betray King Ryons.
“Fah! It’s making my head hurt, trying to make
sense of these goings-on!” Helki said to himself. He clung to what he knew for sure: that God had chosen Ryons to rule Obann. He was sure Roshay Bault believed that. “This calls for a wiser head than mine. Too bad Martis isn’t here!”
Silently he moved closer to the camp. He saw men carrying out dead bodies, setting up campfires, following orders. Whatever the trouble had been, now it was over—at least for the time being. The high councilor was in command.
Helki didn’t speak Wallekki, or he would have understood that these men had hailed the high councilor as king. He couldn’t decide whether to follow Roshay down the mountain, and see what he could learn from him, or to go down the other way and try to catch up to King Ryons.
“I’d better stay here,” he thought. “At least stay until I understand what all this is about.”
Wytt found Ysbott and his men hiding not far from the camp. He wouldn’t attack them because they were wide-awake and cautious.
“What are we going to do?” Hrapp said. “If they ever see us, we’re done for!”
“They aren’t going to see us,” Ysbott said. “Whatever we decide to do, we’ll have to lie low until they’re finished here and cart the gold away.”
“I’m hungry,” Gwawl said.
“Shut up. I’ve got some mushrooms in my bag. We won’t starve.”
Wytt didn’t understand their talk, but he did understand that Ysbott meant harm to these men who followed him. They were blind and deaf to their danger, although to the Omah, malice radiated out from Ysbott like heat from the sun.
With thousands of men crowded into the camp, Wytt kept his distance. He wouldn’t have chosen to come much closer, anyway: he knew something that none of them knew.
Within that sprawling heap of wood and metal, down deep among the dead men’s bones, was something that would hurt you if you got too close to it and stayed too long. Wytt would have agreed with Shaffur, who said the treasure had a curse on it. Wytt knew nothing of curses. But in the flat-topped hills of Obann’s plains, hills that had once been living cities, there were places where the Omah wouldn’t go. They couldn’t have told you why: they simply shunned those spots. Obst would have said they were particular locations that kept a residue of evil, and he would have cited verses from the Scriptures. “Lo, my judgment has made a desolation there; it shall never be inhabited, and its waters shall be bitter forever.” Obst would have trusted the Omah’s keen perceptions.
But none of the men now at the top of the Golden Pass, in their greed, in their rejoicing, felt even the slightest sense of danger.
Wytt turned back to help his own people travel safely down the mountain. Someday he would have another chance to kill Ysbott. For the time being, he dismissed it from his mind.
CHAPTER 40
The Battle of Looth’s Hill
When they saw the Zeph lined up on the ridge flanking the hilltop occupied by Ryons’ army, the Zamzu let out a deep, exultant roar. They blew on horns that had harsh voices and formed into a solid square, with Dahai in a looser formation to protect their flanks and sweep around the enemy once he was engaged with the Zamzu in the center. They saluted the Zephites with their weapons, and even Ryons and Gurun could see what the Zamzu saw: the Zeph would attack from that direction, once the battle was joined.
Shaffur ground his teeth. “We don’t have enough men to hold on two fronts,” he said. “We should have attacked first, when we had the chance!”
Obst knelt in prayer. Down below, the horns blared again. With a great shout the Zamzu began their advance up the grassy slope. The Hosa, ready to meet them at the top, took up the anthem: “His mercy endureth forever.” The rest of the army joined in, drowning out the noise the Zamzu made. But Looth and his men skirmished a little ways downhill to shoot their poisoned arrows. Those few Zamzu who were hit laughed aloud and plucked the arrows from their flesh without missing a step. They didn’t take many steps before they began to fall, one by one. But there were many more of them than the Attakotts had arrows.
“Here they come, the dastards!” cried Tiliqua, pointing to the other hill. Ryons turned to look. The Zeph were coming down at a run, like a herd of wild bulls stampeding.
Gurun could have wept. So it was true, then, after all. Jiharr and his people had betrayed them.
“All-Father,” she prayed, “I do not grudge to die in your service.” Ryons stole a look at her and thought it was wrong that she should die, unbearably wrong, but he was afraid to cry out against the Lord his God. He clamped his lips so tightly shut that they went pale. Chagadai, seeing that, reached out to pat his shoulder. “Be brave, Father,” he said. Ryons only nodded.
“Look!” cried Tiliqua. “Look!”
The Zephites turned. They weren’t charging Ryons’ flank. They went around the base of the hill and came up in the Zamzus’ rear. Before another two minutes passed, they were striking down the Dahai on the Zamzus’ right flank.
Shaffur, the tallest of the chiefs, stood in his saddle, sword held high.
“Now! Now!” he shouted. “All of you—charge!”
The Hosa couldn’t hear him, but they didn’t need to. As one man they rushed down the hill. Uduqu followed, brandishing the giant’s sword, and after him came the Griffs. Around them on both flanks raced Wallekki horsemen.
“This is it!” Chagadai said. “Conquer or die! Father, you stay here with Obst and Gurun.” And the fifty Ghols spurred their horses to the rim of the hill and galloped down.
Cavall howled and took off after them. Baby tore free from Perkin’s grasp and lunged after the hound. Ryons tried to rein in his horse, but couldn’t. It wanted to run with the others; it carried him off with the Ghols, and all he could do was struggle to remain in the saddle.
The Zamzu halted in confusion, suddenly forced to go on the defensive. Behind them the Zeph hewed and clubbed their way into the rear of their formation. The Hosa took them head-on, smashing into the center of their line. And the Wallekki were already driving the Dahai from their other flank.
Ryons saw Baby get there ahead of the Ghols. Not even the Zamzu would stand against the giant bird. His massive beak, more deadly than a lion’s jaws, terrorized them.
What might have been a day-long siege on the hilltop turned into a boiling chaos on the slope. From then on Ryons saw little of the battle beyond his horse’s head tossing in front of him and his own hands below, white-knuckled, clinging to the saddle horn. He couldn’t let go to draw his sword. He couldn’t control his horse, but at least it kept close to the others.
The Dahai surrendered as promptly as they could, throwing away their swords and small, round shields, falling to their knees with empty palms held high. The Zamzu fought to the last man. They could advance no farther up the hill and couldn’t go back down.
Suddenly it was quiet. No more screaming of men and horses, no more clashing of metal. Suddenly Ryons’ horse stood still among the Ghols, panting. For just that one instant, the world seemed as quiet as a tomb.
Ryons raised his head. The Zamzu lay everywhere, not a man of them left standing. He turned: Obst and Gurun were already coming down, slowly. Ryons felt as if he’d just awakened from a fearful dream.
Baby stood over a fallen Zamzu warrior, delicately picking at the carcass. He made no resistance when Perkin came and picked up his leather leash and led him away. Cavall trotted up to Ryons and sat down, red tongue lolling.
Ryons almost jumped out of his saddle when Chagadai spoke to him.
“It’s over, Father. We’ve won. I don’t think our losses are too bad. But why didn’t you stay on the hilltop like I told you to? Far be it from me to chide a valiant heart, but my own old heart nearly stopped when I saw you charge down with us.”
Ryons wanted to tell him that he couldn’t help it, he couldn’t hold back his horse from running with the others, but he couldn’t summon up the breath to say any more than “Sorry!”
Gurun and Obst joined them.
“God has delivered us again,” said Obst.
Already the Zeph, helped by the Wallekki, were rounding up the Dahai. But one of the Zephites, with his bull’s-head helmet in his hand and his face brightly beaming, came striding up the slope.
“Well met, King Ryons!” he called. It was Jiharr. “And well met, my lady queen! In a good hour we meet again, as the God of Obann willed it.”
Gurun dismounted. Now the tears, which she’d held back in the face of death and danger, filled her eyes. She hardly knew this man; but to see him again, here and now, was as if one of her own brothers had come to her from Fogo Island, far away.
“Well met, Jiharr!” she said. “By God’s grace, you and your people have saved our lives.”
