by Lee Duigon
“And now those people that the Empire conquered, long ago, are trying to conquer Obann,” Jack said. “Do you think they’ll do it, Obst?”
“I have many scrolls yet to read,” Obst said. “One of them will probably reveal the answer to that question.”
Cavall woke to the first stirrings of noise inside the cottage. He didn’t wake in stages, like a happy house-dog: he woke up all at once.
Indoors, the man was up, moving around. He said something to the boy. The night had passed into the cool grey of the morning, just before sunrise. Cavall prepared himself to act as soon as the man came out. A few birds greeted the new day, and a rabbit hopped across the yard. Most dogs would have chased it, but Cavall remained as still as a statue.
At last the cottage door swung open and the man stepped out. He started to yawn and stretch, but never finished. Cavall burst out from behind the bush, knocked him down, and finished him before he knew what hit him. The horse screamed and tore loose from its tether; but hobbled as it was, it wouldn’t get far.
Cavall stepped over the dead body, into the cottage. The boy was there, trying to hide himself from he knew not what. The dog whined a greeting to him.
Edwydd woke Ryons, untied him, and told him to get ready; they would have a quick bite to eat, and then ride. Stiff and sore, Ryons could hardly move. Edwydd went out to get a breath of air and saddle his horse—and then there was a thunderous roar, and crash, and the horse screaming.
“A lion!” was all Ryons could think. Terrified, he scrambled for a hiding place. He was still trying to find one when he heard the familiar whine of a dog.
“Cavall—you’re alive!” It was hard to believe, but there he was, as big as life. He padded over and sniffed Ryons from head to toe, probably making sure he was all right. Ryons buried his face in the shaggy fur.
“I’m so glad he didn’t kill you! I never thought—but what have you done to him?”
He clutched the scruff of the dog’s neck and went outside with him. They had to step over Edwydd. Ryons had seen men killed in battle, but this made him shudder.
“He shouldn’t have tried to poison you,” he said, patting Cavall’s head. “I suppose he was a bad man, and something bad would’ve happened to me when he brought me to Obann. But I never found out what that was all about.” A man with good intentions didn’t poison a person’s dog and carry him off by force. Any fool knows that, and Ryons was not a fool. “I reckon he was lucky my Ghols didn’t get him,” he added.
What they needed now was food and water. Edwydd’s canteen was still in the cottage, along with his saddlebag. Ryons drank half the water and gave the rest to Cavall. There was some kind of meat jerky in the saddlebag. Ryons ate some, but Cavall wouldn’t. Ryons ate only a little, and left the rest.
“I’m going to see if I can catch the horse,” he said. “Help me, will you?”
The horse was not far off, hobbling around, grazing on the grass. But whenever Ryons got close to her, she shied away. Cavall didn’t help, but went off on some errand of his own. The horse was nervous, and it was a long time before Ryons was able to catch her by the trailing tether.
“There, it’s all right now, good girl.” He’d tended plenty of Wallekki horses. He couldn’t ride well, but he knew how to calm a troubled horse. By and by he was able to lead the mare back to the cottage, stopping by the well to spare her the sight of Edwydd’s dead body. He was just tying her to the well when Cavall trotted up and dropped a plump rabbit at his feet.
“Good dog!” he cried. “That’s just what we need, something nice and fresh. And we have a horse now, too. There’s a little fireplace in the cottage; I can cook the rabbit there. Then we can be on our way.”
The man was too big for him to drag out of the way, but he was ravenous for the rabbit. He skinned and cleaned it, got a fire going, and had a fine breakfast, with a fair amount left over for Cavall.
The only thing he took from Edwydd was the canteen, because he needed it. He trusted Cavall to find water, but who knew how far it might be between water holes? Obann is not as dry a country as the lands of the Wallekki, but Ryons didn’t know that.
Just before he left the cottage, he remembered to say a prayer, thanking God for saving Cavall’s life and saving him from whatever evils Edwydd had in store for him.
“I don’t know how far it is to Obann,” he added, “and I don’t know why you want me to go there. But Obst says we should obey you in all things, so that’s what I’m trying to do. Amen!”
Once again, no answer—he wondered if God heard his prayers. “Yes,” Obst once said, “He always hears. You can be sure of that.”
“Then why doesn’t He answer?” Ryons would have asked, if Obst had been there.
But except for a dog and a new horse, he was alone.
CHAPTER 18
Helki and the Heathen Champion
Even as Helki had scouts far out in front of his army and far out on the flanks, so did the enemy. The Thunder King’s multitude laid siege to Obann, but its leaders knew of Helki’s presence on the plain. And so they sent an army to meet him; they still had more than enough men to surround Obann.
Wallekki riders brought Helki word of the army that was coming.
“Twice our number, at least,” he reported to the chieftains, “and we’re just far enough from Lintum Forest that we can’t get back.”
“Well, then, we must find a place where we can make a stand,” said Chief Spider, who spoke for the Abnaks. “What would God think of us if we tried to run away? I hate this bare, flat, good-for-nothing plain! Where I come from, there are plenty of good places to have a fight. Here … well, here we are.”
“I don’t see why they bothered to take men off the siege, when they can see we’re already on the march in their direction,” Helki said. “All they have to do is wait for us to get there. But it seems they can’t wait.”
Chief Zekelesh spoke for the Fazzan, with Obst translating. “Ha! We’ve done everything we could think of doing to make the Thunder King mad. It looks like we’ve succeeded!”
Abnaks laughed at that, but no one else thought it was funny. To be caught in the open by a bigger army was the last thing any general wanted.
Chief Shaffur scowled. “So what strategy will save us now?” he said. “There’s not a hill, not a gully, not a single defensible feature for miles all around. We can’t hope to turn the flanks of a much larger force; we can’t retreat—and for all we know, our king is vultures’ meat by now, and we will be fighting for nothing.”
“We’ll fight as if he were here!” growled Chagadai, captain of the Ghols.
There was much murmuring, and hard looks all around—especially at Helki—until Obst intervened.
“Chieftains,” he said, “we won’t survive by dint of any strategy, but only by faith in the Lord who protects us. We are here in obedience to His word, and He won’t abandon you. But don’t you abandon Him.”
“We trust God,” said Zekelesh, “but what does He want us to do?”
“He’ll be satisfied with us if we be men, and fight like men,” old Spider said. “He’s saved us before. He can save us again. But I’m too old to lose any sleep just because there’s going to be a fight tomorrow or the next day. If the Thunder King wants my scalp, let him come and take it.”
Jack and Ellayne had never been in a battle, never seen one. There were battles in Ellayne’s storybooks, and she’d enjoyed those. But she didn’t think she’d enjoy the real thing.
“And if we lose,” said Jack, “the barbarians will get the scrolls, and everything we’ve done will all have been for nothing! Why did Helki ever come out of the forest where it was safe?”
“For the same reason you and Ellayne climbed Bell Mountain—because it was God’s will,” Obst said. “I’m unhappy that you’re here. It’s dangerous! A battlefield’s no place for an old man like me, either. All we can do is try to keep the scrolls safe, and pray.”
What Ellayne knew of battlefields she’
d learned from stories of Abombalbap—which is to say she knew hardly anything at all. But she thought she knew.
“It’s foolish to fight a whole battle,” she said, “when all Helki has to do is challenge the general of the other army to single combat. They won’t have anyone who can beat him! And if he wins, the enemy army has to surrender, or at least march away.”
“That’s just something from a storybook,” Jack said. But Obst was reminded of a verse from one of the prophets that said that out of the mouths of babes and fools comes wisdom, when the Day of the Lord is at hand.
“Wait here and watch the scrolls,” he said, and walked off in a hurry.
With help from Shaffur, who understood such things better than anyone else in the army, Obst composed a letter to the enemy commanders. It read:
“From Helki, the Flail of the Lord and a servant of the only true God, to the skulking slaves of the vile pretender who calls himself the Thunder King:
“We challenge you to decide the issue between us by appointing a champion to fight with me in single combat; so that when I slay him, your army shall return in peace to Obann, whence you came; and if by God’s will your champion should kill me, then you may do as you think best.
“I say there is not a man among you who can stand up to me and live, nor who will dare to do so. I shall be amazed if you accept this challenge. For the tyrant that you serve is a fraud and an abomination, and I, Helki, will prove that on the body of his champion.”
When Obst read it to him (for Helki had never learned to read), Helki whistled, and broke out in a grin.
“Now that’s what I call fancy language!” he said. “How about it, Shaffur—think they’ll go for it?”
The tall Wallekki shrugged. “The time was,” he said, “that any man of honor, presented with a challenge such as this, would immediately accept it; and his followers would hold themselves to be bound by its terms. But I wouldn’t put any trust in the good faith of any of the mardars of the Thunder King.”
“It’s worth a try, though, seeing as how they can force us to fight whether we want to or not,” Helki said. “But at the very worst, the battle will start with me killing their best man. That’s bound to discourage them a little.”
Shaffur laughed. “You’re very sure of yourself!”
“If I’m wrong,” said Helki, “it won’t be my problem anymore, and you chieftains will be stuck with it.”
They sent riders with the challenge, and waited for an answer.
The riders were swift, and by nightfall everyone knew that tomorrow at noon there would be a single combat instead of a battle. The Wallekki, who are fond of such things, were particularly delighted. But Jack had his doubts.
“If those people are as bad as everybody says they are, they’ll never keep their promise,” he said. “Even if Helki wins, they’ll just attack us anyway.”
There were more than a few in the army who would have agreed with him; but as Helki said, there was nothing to be done about it.
At noon the armies were drawn up against each other on the open plain, with a space between them for the champions.
“Their army is a lot bigger than ours,” Jack said.
Helki had already taken his position out in front of his army and was waiting for the enemy champion to appear. He wore no armor, only his insane patched garment, carried no shield, had no helmet covering his wild mane of hair. For a weapon he had only his staff. “I wouldn’t know what to do with a sword if I had one,” he said.
The children and Obst were behind the men of war, with the scrolls stowed in a cart. They would not have been able to see the combat if they hadn’t piled some folded tents and other baggage in the back of the cart and climbed up on it. It made for an unstable perch, and Obst urged them to come down before it toppled over.
“A man’s life will be lost,” he said. “It’s not the kind of thing you ought to see.”
“If Helki loses, we’ll see plenty of lives lost,” said Jack. “We won’t be any safer down there than up here.”
“We want to watch!” Ellayne said. “It’s important! We want to see what happens. It’d be much worse not being able to see—not knowing.”
“I suppose it would be,” Obst muttered.
As the sun mounted to the top of the sky, the Ghols began to sing.
“What’s the matter with them?” Ellayne asked. “They sound like they’re going to be sick.”
“Nothing—it’s a victory song,” said Obst. He smiled. “They’re thanking God for giving us the victory.”
“But the battle hasn’t started yet!” Jack said.
“In God’s eyes, all times are the same.”
The rest of the army emulated the Ghols, and sang in all their various languages. It was a din, but Obst was beaming. They were all praising God, he said: “I wonder what the Heathen make of it.”
But then the singing stopped, and Jack and Ellayne saw movement in the ranks of the enemy host, men making way for their champion.
Jack’s jaw dropped open, but he was too amazed to speak. Ellayne couldn’t help herself.
“It’s a giant!” she cried. “They’ve got a giant!”
The champion must have been sitting down, Jack thought; otherwise everybody would have seen him right away. Now he rose up, and he towered over all the Heathen warriors.
Ellayne watched in horror as he strode forth. This was not right, she thought—there are no men like that! Only in storybooks; but then she remembered that there were giants in the Scriptures.
Helki was a big man, but now he looked like a little boy too stupid or too petrified to run away from an angry man. His staff looked like a toothpick.
The giant carried a round shield with an evil eye painted on it in garish colors. It was as big as the wheel of a full-sized oxcart. On his head was a helmet with a nodding horsehair crest and two sharp horns; you could take a bath in it, Jack thought. In one hand the giant carried a sword that an ordinary man could hardly lift, let alone use. His face was dark, and a massive, curly black beard rippled down his chest. He wore a leather corselet and a white tunic, with his arms and legs left bare—arms and legs like tree trunks, a brooding mountain of a man. No wonder Helki’s army stopped singing when they saw him.
“It isn’t fair!” Ellayne muttered. But Jack could still say nothing. He heard Obst praying and wondered what good that would do.
The giant stopped a few paces in front of Helki and made a speech. It was in the language of a distant country. Obst, who had the gift of understanding every language, understood the speech.
The giant’s name was Shogg, the son of Sezek, from the country of the Zamzu on the eastern shores of the Great Lakes. He boasted about being a special favorite of the Thunder King, and a killer and eater of men. He promised to eat Helki’s heart for supper.
All this Obst understood, but didn’t translate it for the children.
When the giant finished speaking, he flourished his sword over his head, cleaving the air with a whoosh, then held it in both hands, waiting. Helki answered him, and his words carried all the way back to the cart.
“I didn’t get a word you said,” Helki said, “but I don’t reckon there was much in it worth getting. I suppose a big fellow like you has killed a lot of little men, but the times are changing. I may not be much, but the God I serve is the real God, and yours is nothing but a bug posing as a man. Now are you going to talk some more, or fight?”
The giant couldn’t have understood him, but he let out a roar that was like the earth being torn in half and swiped at Helki with his sword. That blow would have felled a full-grown oak tree, had it landed; but it didn’t. Helki ducked—and then, too swift to see, his staff lashed out and cracked against the giant’s shinbone, just below the knee. It was solid white oak, hard, patiently and skillfully aged—hard enough to shatter even the bones of giants.
With a hideous wail Shogg fell; and he never got up again. The rod cracked down across the bridge of his nose, then smashed his
temple. His mighty legs thrashed violently, and then he lay still.
The whole world was silent. Who could say a word? Jack couldn’t even breathe.
Out from the ranks of the Heathen sprang a man, bare-chested, with his face painted bright red. He screamed a few words, and his army moved. It was the mardar, launching the attack. And the foremost pack of human wolves was coming straight for Helki.
“They broke their promise! I knew they would!” Jack cried.
But the chieftains had anticipated this. The mardar fell with a Ghol’s arrow in his breast. The Wallekki swung into their saddles and launched a countercharge. Abnaks and Fazzan raced forward at a run to rescue Helki.
Burly Uduqu reached him first, a step ahead of the enemy. He snatched up the giant’s sword in both hands and in one blow cut down the first two men who came close enough, cleaved them both in half. The others froze in their tracks, aghast.
Wytt swarmed up from the bed of the wagon and pulled at Ellayne’s hand, screeching.
“More men are coming, that way!” Jack called down to Obst, pointing to a cloud of dust in the south, with a mob of men under it. “Wytt smelled them an hour ago.”
“But what men are they, Wytt?” Ellayne asked.
Wytt didn’t know, but they didn’t have to wait long to find out.
It was Martis, on Dulayl, with his escort of six Wallekki riders—and behind them, at a run, seven hundred spearmen from the city of Caryllick—armored, trained, and disciplined.
Already shaken by the fall of their champion, the death of their mardar, and the awesome blow struck by Uduqu with the giant’s sword, this new shock was too much for the Heathen. Those who could, threw down their encumbering weapons and fled into the west as fast as their feet would carry them, thinking only to get back to Obann and the vast numbers of the besieging host. The city was many days’ journey distant, but they were too terrified to think of that.