The Fugitive Prince (Bell Mountain)

by Lee Duigon

  “Come!” he barked at his warriors. “We must go much farther before we camp, lest the Zamzu come and find us sleeping.”

  Just before sundown Helki returned to the thicket. Ryons wasn’t there. Helki hadn’t expected to find him there: the signs left all over the neighborhood—broken twigs and trampled vines, with here and there a footprint—had already told him what to expect. The Hosa had stampeded, and they wound up here. But he was surprised when Angel shrieked and landed on his shoulder. The hawk nuzzled his ear, and he stroked her feathered breast.

  “So the black men took our king, little sister!” he said. “It doesn’t look like they’ve done him any harm, and it seems Cavall went along without a fight. I don’t think they could’ve gotten too far ahead of us.”

  These Hosa had no woodcraft at all, he thought. They kept blundering off the path—that was how they’d found the thicket—and a baker from the city could follow the track they made.

  The rangers had all escaped from the enraged Zamzu who’d charged into the forest after them, and they were now making camp. Helki’s news dismayed them.

  “What good have we done at all,” Andrus cried, “if the Heathen have taken the king?”

  “They won’t be able to keep him,” Helki said.

  “They’ll use him against us as a hostage.”

  “That’s just what I’m afraid of. That’s why I’m going to go on ahead a ways and see what I can see. You boys rest for now, and follow me at first light.”

  “We’re ready to follow you now!” Andrus said.

  “No—you’re all young men, and you need your sleep,” Helki said. “Don’t pout! I reckon there’ll be plenty for all of you to do tomorrow.”

  “And if they’ve killed our king?”

  “Then none of them will get out of this forest alive,” said Helki.

  Chapter 50

  How Orth Regained His Memory

  Gurun suddenly sat up in bed in the middle of the night, with words of prophecy ringing in her mind: “I shall set Ozias’ throne in Lintum Forest.”

  Jandra spoke those words. Gurun heard them from Abgayle, weeks ago. Not knowing what it could mean, she sent messengers to pass it on to Obst, who’d left the city with the army. Since then she hadn’t given it a thought.

  But now she knew the meaning of the prophecy.

  “Oh, you fool, Gurun!” she scolded herself. “You should have listened to Gallgoid.”

  Because she wasn’t truly a queen, but a freeman’s daughter from Fogo Island, it never occurred to her to ring for a servant and have someone haled out of bed so she could talk to him. But in the morning she would have to speak to Uduqu, and especially to Fnaa: because the prophecy changed everything. If only they could have understood it sooner!

  When Sunfish woke in the morning, he found himself in a luxurious bed, looking up at a plastered ceiling nicely painted along its borders with curling vines in green and gilded arabesques. He was alone. A polished hardwood door shut off the room from the rest of the house. Beyond it he could hear muffled noises—footsteps up and down stairs, and back and forth, a persistent tapping as of a gently applied hammer, and furniture being moved about. Although finely woven curtains were drawn across the windows, the light of day was already strong enough to penetrate. He knew it couldn’t be earlier than mid-morning.

  Beside his bed hung a soft bell-rope. Without pausing to wonder how he knew what it was for, he tugged it twice.

  A minute later his door swung open and in came a lean, white-haired man in black livery.

  “Good morning, my lord Prester—and may I say what a pleasure it is to see you here again. I thought it best to let you sleep.”

  “Fergon. Yes, Fergon,” Sunfish said. Only now he knew his name wasn’t Sunfish. He was Orth, Prester Orth. He lay in his own bed, in his own house; and this was his butler, Fergon.

  “How did I come to be here?” he asked.

  “Preceptor Constan’s servants brought you here last night, my lord, after some of Prester Jod’s people made your room ready and fetched me. Some of your own servants have returned; and the house is full of workmen who are restoring it to its rightful condition. I dare say they’ll be finished by the end of this day. Meanwhile, you can have your breakfast if you want it. Enid is back in the kitchen, overjoyed by your return to us.”

  Orth shook his head. “Not just yet, Fergon. I want to be alone for a while longer. I need to think! Open the curtains for me before you go.”

  And so he stayed in bed, alone in the sunshine, as memories washed over him. He remembered being Sunfish, he remembered Hlah and May and the little village in the hills. But he also remembered being Orth; and those memories were not as pleasant.

  Constan and Jod must have recognized him. That was why they’d brought him here. But they couldn’t have known, no one knew, how he’d come to leave Obann in the first place: he and Lord Reesh.

  What had happened to Lord Reesh? Where was he? Orth didn’t know. He’d deserted Reesh’s party before it came anywhere near the mountains. He wondered if anyone knew what he and Reesh had done together. They didn’t know, he thought. Otherwise, they would not have returned him to his house.

  Meanwhile, all he had to do was to look out the window to see that the city of Obann still stood, still prospered. He remembered Hlah saying the Thunder King’s vast army was destroyed and the city miraculously saved. So our treason, he thought, had been for nothing.

  And yet God had spared him. Here he was.

  Why?

  Early in the afternoon, he rang again for Fergon.

  “Bring me something to eat,” he said, “and send for Prester Jod and Preceptor Constan. There is something I must tell them.”

  “And so you see,” said Gurun, “the king must rule Obann from Lintum Forest. That is the clear meaning of Jandra’s prophecy. That is why King Ryons himself departed secretly. There is no reason for us to stay here in this city.”

  Fnaa, Uduqu, and Dakl listened intently. They sat in Gurun’s bedchamber with the door shut. Outside, Shingis the Blay and two of his warriors kept the hallway clear of eavesdroppers.

  “Well,” Uduqu said, “do we leave the city now? And how do we do it?”

  “I can’t go,” Fnaa said. “I have to hold King Ryons’ place for him.”

  “But this city is not his place anymore,” said Gurun.

  “Will Gallgoid help us again?” Uduqu said. “He went to a lot of trouble for us last time, and we let him down.”

  “I have not yet been able to speak to him.”

  “He’ll be mad at us,” Fnaa said. “Why don’t I just tell fat Merffin and his friends that they can’t come to the palace anymore?”

  “They don’t need to come anymore,” Gurun said. “The palace is full of their spies. Sooner or later they will murder us.”

  Dakl said nothing, just glanced back and forth from one face to another. Dread was in her eyes.

  “This will take some thought,” Uduqu said, “and not the kind of thought I’m good at. We need Gallgoid.”

  “It seems to me,” Gurun said, “that the sooner we leave the palace, the better. I would like to leave today.”

  But none of them knew where they ought to go.

  Sitting beside Orth’s bed, listening to him, questioning him, Jod and Constan missed their suppers. They didn’t notice, and evening gave way to night by the time Orth fell back to sleep and they left him.

  The workmen were gone. The interior of the house looked like a prester’s home again. Having both been there before, Jod and Constan retired to Orth’s parlor and ordered the butler to ensure their privacy. They knew Fergon would strictly see to it. They settled in comfortable chairs, close to one another, and spoke in muted voices.

  “Well?” Jod said. “Do you believe it?”

  “I do.”

  Jod shook his head. “I wish I didn’t! But the question is, what are we to do about it?”

  “Accede to his wish,” said Constan. “Let him do what he says
he has to do.”

  The prester sighed. Anyone who didn’t know Constan would think he didn’t care; but Jod respected Constan’s judgment. The preceptor always said exactly what he meant, and said it simply.

  “It’s dangerous,” Jod said. “It might start riots in the city. It might even bring about the end of religion in Obann, as we know it.”

  “Maybe, as we know it, the time has come for it to end,” Constan said.

  The prester smiled at him, warmly. “Preceptor,” he said, “I have never in my life been more afraid of anything than I am of this business!”

  “Quite a feeling, isn’t it?” Constan said.

  Exhilarated, the prester made his way home to his Obann townhouse. There he was surprised to find swarthy little men, armed, standing guard before his door. His aide stood on the steps, helplessly spreading his palms.

  “Who are these people?” Jod asked. “Why are they here?”

  “Queen Gurun’s bodyguard, my lord. There are more of them in the house and a few more in the stables. And the queen awaits you in your drawing room. The king is with her.”

  He would have said more, but Jod pushed past him and hurried to the drawing room.

  Gurun and the boy king were there, along with a scar-faced barbarian and a single handmaid. As word of colossal size leaned against Jod’s favorite couch.

  “Your Majesty! My lady! To what do I owe this honor to my house?” Jod cried.

  “Your pardon, my lord Prester,” Gurun said, “but we beg leave to stay with you until the conclusion of the conclave.” She turned to the big man with the scalp lock and the shaven head. “This is Chief Uduqu, who guards the king, and my maid, Dakl. I have also brought my bodyguard of eighteen men.” She paused, then added, “I am afraid it’s necessary. We have come here because, of all the men in Obann at this time, you have the greatest reputation for honor and integrity. I could not think of anywhere else for us to go.”

  Jod’s head spun. Nevertheless, he bowed to Gurun and the king.

  “All that I have is at Your Majesties’ disposal,” he said. “Please sit down! We’ll have something to eat, and while we eat, you can tell me all about it—whatever it is that brings you here.”

  Chapter 51

  A Great and Terrible Light

  The Hosa marched until they found a clearing big enough for them to stay the night. They made a proper camp, gathering brush to make a palisade around it—nothing would get through that without making a lot of noise—and posting plenty of guards.

  Xhama estimated he now had some five hundred men left out of the thousand he’d led out of Silvertown. Some had been lost as stragglers, and more had been killed in the fight with the Zamzu.

  They offered Ryons neither violence nor disrespect as they made him march with them. Cavall seemed to like their company; “A good sign,” Ryons thought.

  His own fear never came back to him. Maybe the man of God was with him, after all, and you just couldn’t see him. Ryons had the feeling that if he could only turn his head suddenly and look in just the right place, he’d get a glimpse of him. But it would have been bad manners, so he didn’t try. Meanwhile, Xhama spoke of his faraway homeland, of his herds of cattle and his crops of corn and melons, and his two wives.

  “But then came the Thunder King’s mardars,” he said, “and they cast spells that made our cattle die and our corn wither. They said they would dry up our women if we did not obey them. We must either serve the Thunder King or see our whole people starve to death.”

  There was little enough to eat that night. The Hosa carried rations, but they had to make them last. And after their meager supper, Xhama gathered his chiefs in the middle of the camp to discuss what to do. Ryons sat on a log behind him, with Cavall at his feet, understanding nothing of what was being said in all that long debate.

  “We should press on to Silvertown,” said one of the chiefs, “and get out of this horrible forest! Maybe, if we give the boy to Goryk Gillow, the Thunder King will let us go in peace.”

  But not many of the chiefs thought that this was likely. A few laughed scornfully.

  “I have been thinking about this, all the time we marched,” Xhama said. “Listen to me, my children.

  “We have rebelled against the Thunder King, and we are all dead men. But this boy says his God can give us life again! Our own gods could not protect us from the Thunder King. They are, instead, his prisoners. What good did they do us?

  “But now there are many who have rebelled against the Thunder King, and they are still alive. They serve in this boy’s army, and the God of Obann honors them. It is my thought that we should do the same! If the king will have us for his friends, I myself would serve him willingly. And we shall wash our spears in the blood of those who would enslave us.”

  A few of the chiefs whooped, then a few more. They sprang to their feet and briefly danced. Cavall barked, and Ryons held him tightly, lest he should attack. But Xhama turned to him with a brilliant smile upon his face.

  “It’s settled!” he said in Tribe-talk. “My warriors are now your warriors, and we will swear an oath to you of our own free will. No one will ever say that you compelled us.”

  Ryons stood up. The chiefs fell silent.

  “Tell them,” he said, “that I’ll be true to them, and as good a lord to them as I can be. But tell them this, too: that if they wish to follow me and be my men, then they must learn to believe in the true God, and no God but Him. Tell them that God will protect them and make them strong against their enemies—just as He has protected me. And God will destroy the Thunder King.”

  Xhama turned back to his men and translated, making a long speech of it.

  And the Hosa that night danced in Ryons’ honor and swore to serve the living God.

  There was rejoicing, too, at Carbonek. Late that afternoon, an Abnak scout who understood Tribe-talk emerged from the woods with the news that King Ryons’ own army was on its way and would join them in another day or two.

  “So we’re saved!” Jack said, as the settlers bustled about, preparing a celebratory feast. “If only King Ryons and Helki were back with us, everything would be just fine.”

  “But what about that Heathen army that’s on its way here from the East?” Ellayne said.

  “Oh, I guess King Ryons’ army can take care of that!”

  Ellayne looked up at Martis. “What’s the matter, Martis?” she said. “You should be happy, but you look worried.”

  “I always worry when things are going well, Ellayne. That’s the best time for them to go wrong.” He forced a smile to his face, but it didn’t stay long.

  He was thinking about what other potent objects the Thunder King might have acquired, left over from ancient times. If he could afford to give them to his agents who traveled throughout Obann, he must have found a trove of them. What powers might they have?

  “We’re saved for now, I suppose,” he said. “I’ll feel better about it when the king and Helki return. They went out with six archers to fight against an army, and no one’s heard from them since.”

  “No one’s heard anything,” Jack said.

  While the Hosa danced, and the settlers at Carbonek feasted, Goryk Gillow received a messenger who’d come all the way from Kara Karram.

  It was a mardar named Zo, a little, bow-legged man whose people inhabited the Lake of Islands. You would not have guessed he was a mardar, to look at him; he didn’t advertise it. But he spoke excellent Tribe-talk, and Goryk welcomed him into his house.

  “Your pardon, comrade!” Zo said, as he reached for Goryk’s ceiling and bent his body this way and that, stretching himself. “I’m full of kinks from riding horseback—I’ll never get used to it. A reed boat on the water, that’s the only way to travel.”

  “You’ve come a long way, Mardar,” Goryk said. Zo had brought a bulky leather box with him, stitched shut with leather thongs. This box now lay on the floor. Goryk was curious about it.

  “I’ve come because our master King T
hunder understands your problems and wishes to help you,” Zo said.

  “I am glad he has received my messages and taken thought for me,” Goryk said. “Are you the help he has sent? Or is it the contents of that box?”

  “The one will do you no good without the other!”

  “Let me first give you some refreshment, Mardar. I wish my chairs were more comfortable; but as you can see, they’ve been cobbled together by men who are something less than skilled artisans.”