by Lee Duigon
Still locked up in his room—he’d lost count of the days—Jack received another visit from Goryk Gillow.
“Good news, Jack. We’re going to go to Obann,” he said. “All has been arranged. We have a safe-conduct from the ruling council, and they’re eager to make peace. Have you ever been to Obann?”
“No, sir,” Jack lied. “I’ve heard it’s very grand, sir.”
“And so it is,” said Goryk. “You’ll see it all for yourself before the summer’s halfway through. They’ll have a nice room for you in the palace.”
“That’ll be very nice, sir.”
“It’s a long way to Obann,” Goryk said, “so we’ll have to start our journey soon. Along the way, you’ll be tutored by a man who was a servant of the Temple, so that you’ll know everything that King Ryons would be expected to know. The Temple’s burned down, alas, but this man knows the palace, too—and everything else about the city. We’re lucky to have him.”
“No end of traitors!” Jack thought. Was anyone in Obann, outside of Ninneburky and the forest, loyal to the king? But he only said, “I’ll try to learn everything, sir.”
“Good boy!” Goryk got up and rapped on the door. “Come in, Jayce, and meet your new pupil.”
And into the room stepped Martis.
In the end, boldness seemed best. So after the Zephites with their blinded mardar marched away from the city, Martis marched right up to the main gate and asked to see the First Prester. The Wallekki guard took him to Iolo.
“And who are you,” the captain growled, “that you should see the First Prester? He’s a very busy man, and we don’t need any extra mouths to feed.”
Martis convinced him, though, and soon he was seated and having trappers’ tea with Goryk Gillow in the chamber house. Goryk listened attentively to all that Martis had to say, and much of it was true.
“I was, for many years, a confidential servant to Lord Reesh. Among other things, I was his assassin. It was Lord Reesh’s policy that the Temple must always come first. Sometimes he found it necessary to remove certain heretics, and persons who had come to be an embarrassment to the Temple, and others who sought power and wealth at the Temple’s expense. I also served him in collecting intelligence from all regions of Obann, and even from beyond the mountains. I’ve come to you because there is a new First Prester whose ways are not Lord Reesh’s ways, and him I cannot serve.”
Goryk was keenly interested in all that Martis had to say, and they spent most of the day together.
“You’re just the kind of man I’ve been looking for,” Goryk said. “I think you’ll be a great help to me in getting my master’s New Temple securely established. And as you know, the Temple cannot have two First Presters.”
“Lord Orth doesn’t believe in the Temple,” Martis said, “and I can only serve one First Prester. I’d prefer to serve you, my lord.”
“And serve me you shall! And you’ve come along just in time, too. Another few days, and you’d have missed me.”
For Goryk was going to Obann to meet the councilors, and although he didn’t say so, Martis understood that before the summer was out, there would once again be only one First Prester in Obann.
But the rest of Goryk’s plan he found even more interesting.
Before he entered Silvertown, Martis spoke to Wytt. He couldn’t be sure that Wytt would understand him. He hoped it was true, what Jack and Ellayne said—that Wytt did understand most of what was said to him.
“I have to go down there to that city,” Martis said. “Jack is there, somewhere, and I have to find him. It may take a while—and even longer, to find some way to get him out of there.
“I want you to stay close to the city and keep watch. If we can get out, we’ll need your help to get back to Ninneburky without being caught. Keep a close watch, Wytt!”
The Omah looked at him, unblinking. Was there a mind behind those little eyes, Martis wondered—a real mind that could understand what needed to be done, and do it? As well as he knew Wytt, he didn’t know the answer to that question. He could only hope that Wytt would understand. Then he strode down the hill to the gate.
Wytt did understand, but in his own way.
By the time Martis was introduced to Jack as Jayce, to be his tutor in all things pertaining to the city of Obann, Wytt had crept into Silvertown through a flaw in the shoddily constructed wall. And when the sun went down, he began his own search for Jack.
CHAPTER 19
King Ryons’ Loyal Servants
Once, when he was Lord Reesh’s favorite, and because Reesh had urged him to do it, Orth had created a counterfeit Scripture and arranged for it to be discovered in the archives by an unsuspecting scholar. As head of the presters’ authentication committee, Orth had made sure it was accepted as genuine. When his memory returned to him, he had confessed the deed, and the spurious passage was not included in the new copies of the Old Books.
Orth had given up all the deceits and subterfuges that once were second nature to him. God had taken away even the temptation to resort to such devices. But now he had a need of them and found himself incapable of double-dealing. It even troubled him that he’d sent Ozias’ scrolls to Durmurot without informing anyone but Constan.
“I’m sure the purpose of the coronation is to perform some act against the king,” he confided to the preceptor. “Merffin Mord is the kind of man I used to be. And yet I’ve promised to place the new crown on the king’s head. Whatever plot they’re hatching, I’m part of it!”
Constan comforted him. “Ungodly men always think the righteous men are fools,” he said. “That’s your advantage over them. Use it wisely.”
Silvertown was full of burned-out houses that had not yet been torn down, new buildings yet unfinished, and heaps of stone and lumber. Wytt found plenty of good hiding places. The hungry Big People had already caught and eaten almost all the rats and mice, but there were still worms and insects, which the Omah liked, but about which it would probably be best to say no more.
You or I would be distressed by the sight of bodies hanging from the gallows, by the constant threat of violence embodied in the Heathen conquerors, and by the toil and poverty imposed on the people of the city. Wytt paid no attention to such things.
Jack was in the big building in the middle of the town: it took him no time to discover that. So was Martis. But there was something else in the place, in that very building, that no human being would detect with his dull senses, but which cried out to the Omah. Had he not been so attached to Jack, he would have fled the city that very night.
Wytt could not have put it into words; it wouldn’t occur to him to try. Big People understood so little! He knew they couldn’t perceive what he perceived. But he did perceive that there was something evil in this place, and that someday it was going to come out and devour much more than it would ever find here. It was like the taint of evil that still clung to the ancient, ruined cities of Obann, to which the Omah were immune. Wytt could taste it everywhere in Silvertown, spreading out from the big building in which Jack was a prisoner. Upon the ruins it was just an aftertaste, but here it was alive and strong. And the stupid human beings had no awareness of it. Even a tiny, hairless baby Omah would have been afraid of it.
For the time being, there was nothing Wytt could do but watch and wait. Near the big building, under a neglected pile of sawn logs, he found an abandoned rat’s nest where he could safely spend the night. Thoughtfully munching on a centipede, his mind wandered down paths where no human mind would ever go.
To King Ryons in Lintum Forest,
From Merffin Mord & the Ruling Council of Obann,
Our most profound & affectionate greetings!
Whereas it has pleased Your Majesty to quit his loyal city of Obann, to sojourn in Lintum Forest:
And whereas we his loyal subjects remain in the City of Obann, from which the entire Country takes its name:
And whereas we are all desirous of honoring the King & confirming him in all his ri
ghts & privileges, which once pertained to all the Kings of Obann:
And whereas the Holy Scriptures themselves provide a Model for what we ought to do:
We hereby invite & entreat Your Majesty to visit his city of Obann at his earliest convenience, & to bring with him whatever persons he pleases to have in his company:
So that on Midsummer’s Day of this year, he may in the sight of all the people be anointed & crowned the rightful King of Obann by the grace of God, by the hand of the First Prester, Lord Orth: Said coronation to be an occasion of rejoicing to all the people of Obann, & to mark the beginning of a new & glorious epoch in our Country’s history.
Signed and sealed by His Majesty’s servants, the Ruling Council of Obann.
Obst read the letter to the chieftains of King Ryons’ army and to the chief men among the settlers at Carbonek. Around the semicircle of the chieftains on their stools of office, in front of the ruined castle, everyone in Carbonek pressed as close as they could to hear as much as they could. And on his carven stone seat, amid his chiefs, sat Ryons in his Wallekki headdress and his kingly robes, in which he always felt uncomfortable and out of place. Cavall crouched beside the makeshift throne, and on the other side of it stood Baby, with Perkin’s arm around the big bird’s neck to keep him from getting overly excited by the presence of so many people. The dog and the giant bird, with the king between them, looked rather like a royal seal.
“Loyal subjects—ha, ha!” Helki laughed out loud. “I like that!”
“The kings of Obann were always crowned in Obann,” said Obst, “with due ceremony.”
“Except for King Ozias, our king’s ancestor!” said Perkin, who had once been a student at a seminary.
“Quite right,” Obst agreed.
“But wait, Obst—I don’t understand,” Ryons said. He always tried to avoid speaking in these councils, a boy among men, but he really didn’t understand, and he needed his teacher to explain. “I thought God said my throne was to be here, in Lintum Forest. Why should I have to go back to the city? And what’s a coronation?”
“It sounds to me like some kind of trap,” said Zekelesh, chief of the Fazzan. “When we left that city last year, those people were very glad to see us go. You should have heard the things they said about us! It’s not like it was when Nanny Witkom was alive.” The old prophetess had been his special friend.
“Peace, my lords,” Obst said. And to Ryons: “Sire, a coronation is a great and special ceremony in which the king is anointed with holy oil and crowned. It used to be done in ancient days to confirm him in his kingship.”
“The great God has confirmed our king!” said Shaffur, chief of the Wallekki. “By the words of a true prophet, by victory in battle, and by miracles! Have they forgotten how their king came to them—mounted on the great beast whose like was never seen before by any man, and how he came in time to save them from the Heathen? If that’s not enough to confirm him as king, then I don’t know what is.” And the Ghols who stood behind the king, guarding him, clashed the hilts of their daggers on their shields, applauding.
Tughrul Lomak, chief of the Dahai, spoke softly, so that only the other chiefs could hear: “Besides which, we have other plans for this summer’s campaigning season.”
“We may not speak of that here and now!” Obst said.
The chiefs had agreed to march on Silvertown and take it from the Thunder King. They had intelligence now that the traitor Goryk Gillow had been invited to Obann under a safe-conduct from Merffin Mord’s council and had agreed to come. They were still trying to decide whether to proceed to Silvertown as planned or to attack and destroy Goryk Gillow as he journeyed to Obann. As Shaffur put it, “We gave him no promise of safe conduct. Let those fellows in Obann keep their promise, if they can.” But most of the other chiefs thought it would be best to appear before the walls of Silvertown while the tyrant was away.
“I don’t have to go to this coronation, do I?” Ryons said.
“You’re the king, Sire. You don’t have to go anywhere,” Helki answered. “All the same, I’d love to see how they try to handle two First Presters in Obann at the same time.”
“There is only one First Prester,” Obst said, “and that’s Lord Orth, who was elected by the College of Presters. Goryk is a creature of the Thunder King. How anyone in Obann could talk peace with him is more than I know.”
“If I were Lord Orth, I’d watch my topknot,” Helki said, and the Abnaks who were there all laughed.
“It’s no laughing matter!” Obst said. “With Goryk in the city, Lord Orth will be in danger.”
“If they’re planning to take the First Prester’s scalp,” said Chief Buzzard, the Abnaks’ spokesman, “what will they have in mind for our king? You ought to stay with us, Your Majesty. We’ll keep you safe.”
That was just what Ryons wanted to hear. It wasn’t so long ago that most of these men had been prepared to see him sacrificed, cut open so a mardar could read the future in his entrails. But to a boy as young as Ryons, even that seemed a long time ago. He trusted his chieftains now and didn’t care if he never again left Lintum Forest.
CHAPTER 20
How Ellayne Wrote to Her Father
The signed and sealed invitation to King Ryons’ coronation had come to Durmurot, too. Prester Jod couldn’t decide how to answer it, so he convened a chapter meeting of his lesser presters, reciters, and seminary preceptors to discuss it.
“What shall I do?” he said. They met in the chapel of the chamber house in the afternoon, with colored light through the stained glass window dancing on the cool stone floor. “King Ryons is determined to go, Queen Gurun tells me, and certainly it would appear very strange if they went and I didn’t. But I don’t trust these men who have appointed themselves the rulers of the city. Nor does the First Prester—else he wouldn’t have sent King Ozias’ scrolls to us for safe keeping. And now I learn—of all things!—that Goryk Gillow, the traitor, unlawfully styled First Prester by our mortal enemy the Thunder King, will also be in Obann for the coronation. The council says he’ll be there to talk peace, but I don’t believe it.”
“Excuse me, Prester,” a preceptor said, “but how did you learn that the traitor would be coming, too?”
“I have a reliable source of information,” Jod said. What he had was a letter from Constan, who had the information from Gallgoid; but Gallgoid’s name was not mentioned, and Jod knew nothing of him.
“Maybe the king and queen shouldn’t go,” a prester said.
“I’d like to see them hold a coronation without a king!” someone else said, inspiring a general laugh that soon died away.
“I have a mind to stay right here in Durmurot,” Jod said. “Furthermore, I think our rightful First Prester, Lord Orth, ought to leave Obann and join us here, along with everyone else who’s loyal to him and to the king.”
“We’ll lose Obann, my lord. They’ll set up this Goryk Gillow person in Lord Orth’s place. Our king will have a divided kingdom.”
“It might even start a civil war,” said a reciter.
“And what of the pretender—the one they say has been set up in Lintum Forest?” a prester demanded. “What if he’s crowned while King Ryons stays in Durmurot? That would make a mess of things!”
Jod sighed. “That’s why I’m asking your advice, my friends!” he said.
“If the king has already decided to go to the coronation,” said a reciter, “whatever we think doesn’t matter.”
“Which is no reason to stop thinking,” said Jod. But although the chapter deliberated all day long, they were unable to come to a decision.
Gurun knew about the meeting, but hadn’t attended. Instead, she went for a ride with Fnaa, out to some low hills from which she could just make out the blue horizon of the sea. Below, the wide Imperial River began to break up into its many mouths, each one carrying its burden of fresh water to the sea.
The ocean called to her. Somewhere to the north, far away across the water, was her home.
Father and mother, and her three annoying brothers, and the wind-swept mounds of Fogo Island—oh, she missed them! An Obannese girl would have wept for homesickness, but Fogo Island girls are taught to save their tears for funerals.
“Look at that, Gurun!” Fnaa cried, pointing. “What do you suppose that is?”
It took her a moment to find what he was pointing to. Down there, emerging from a stand of greenish-yellow reeds beside the riverbank, a beast came out to taste the water. It must have been as big as a horse, but it looked more like a hog. Some of the farmers around Durmurot raised pigs, but this creature was twice as big as the biggest of the boars. And it was slate-grey, not pink or black or spotted. It took one or two sips, suddenly wheeled with startling agility, and dove back into the reeds, where it vanished almost instantly.