The Palace (Bell Mountain Series #6) (24 page)

“What—”

“Shh! Don’t you recognize him? Quiet!”

It was Ysbott. When he came close enough, the girls saw that his face was burned red. He had his eyes squinted, as if it pained him too much to open them. Once or twice he nearly walked into the water. He carried a bludgeon in his hand. And he was shouting.

“Find them! Find them! We’re for the gallows, if those witches get away!”

Enith went pale, but made no noise. The girls waited a long time for him to pass out of sight.

“A close call!” Ellayne said. “They must be hunting for us.”

“Well, then, how are we going to get back home if those men are prowling up and down the river? And we still don’t know which is the right way to go!”

Ellayne started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, the whole thing is funny! Here I am, not a day’s march from home—and I’m lost!”

“I don’t think it’s funny!”

“Practically on my father’s doorstep,” Ellayne said, “and I’m lost! If Jack were here he’d laugh himself silly and call me a prize ninny, too.”

“Why don’t we just sit here laughing until those men find us?” Enith said.

Ellayne caught her breath and settled her mind. “I don’t think we can stay by the river,” she said. “We’ll have to go back the way we came and find the River Road. My father will have patrols out by now. They’ll find us. But I don’t think the outlaws will come out into the open. Much too dangerous for them!”

Her legs wobbled when she stood up again. She thought it would be a long time before she forgot the sight of Ysbott’s burned face and his squinting eyes looking for her.

Ryons’ adventure with the white doe and the red streak in his hair, the chieftains and the army took for signs from God that they should march on Silvertown. Helki had already chosen the routes that they would take, and their supplies had already been amassed. There was no reason to delay it any longer.

A thousand men would stay behind to guard the settlement: all the men who lived there with their families, half of the Lintum Forest outlaws who now followed Helki and whom he trusted, and a few of the Abnaks who’d married Obannese women. That left the chieftains with a force of just under four thousand men, including all the original members of the army who still lived.

Attakotts and Wallekki horsemen would travel on the plains, screening the forest north and south. Through the forest on foot would march the Abnaks, Fazzan, Dahai, Griffs, five hundred black men from the distant Hosa country, a scattering of other nations, and the little band of Ghols to guard the king. One by one, depending on how long was their route of march, the divisions of the army marched out of Carbonek.

Helki and Obst watched them go, and Helki sighed.

“It’ll be a miracle if they all come out of the woods at the same time and wind up in the same place, as we’ve planned,” Helki said. “I just hope we won’t have to wait too long for the army to come back together. If God hadn’t commanded us to do this, I’d say it was folly.”

“It was even more a folly when we marched to Obann against the Thunder King’s ten thousands,” Obst answered. “But then you saw the salvation of the Lord.”

Helki nodded. He’d never forget the sight of that roaring multitude breaking through the defenses of the city—and then the great beast rising from the river, with King Ryons like a sparrow on its back, and putting to flight the entire Heathen host.

Last of all King Ryons himself and his Ghols rode out of Carbonek, with Angel perched on the king’s wrist and Cavall, almost as big as Ryons’ little horse, trotting beside him. Perkin the wanderer followed with Baby on a sturdy leash, and Helki on foot and Obst on a donkey joined them.

The whole settlement, men, women, and children, cheered them off. And up on a ruined tower of the castle—it must have flown up there, although you hardly ever saw it fly—perched Jandra’s toothed bird, raucously shrieking a farewell. Somewhere below stood the little prophetess herself, waving.

As they went, the Ghols sang. It was their own peculiar form of singing, deep down in the throat, producing an assortment of drones and whistles that sounded more like exotic musical instruments than any human voice.

It was the army’s anthem, “His mercy endureth forever.” Each contingent sang it in its own way: the Abnaks with ferocious whoops and screeches; the Wallekki with words that flowed together as a single stream in flood; the black men dividing it into a harmony of deep, deeper, and very much higher vocals. When the army was united and singing it together, the din heartened them and bred fear among their enemies. But today it was only the Ghols droning rhythmically—music strange and alien to Western ears, but also indefinably compelling.

Encouraged by Chagadai, Ryons tried to sing along with them, without much success. The old Ghol smiled and patted the boy’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it, Father,” he said. “We’ll make a throat-singer of you yet.”

CHAPTER 25

Toward Coronation Day

Wytt hadn’t yet revealed himself to Jack and Martis. Martis was concerned for him, hoping that the Omah had followed them from Silvertown, as commanded. Wytt didn’t care much for commands. He was here because he chose to be, here to watch over Jack and Martis. If you could ask him why, he wouldn’t answer. This was simply what he did.

But he was being more than usually cautious, far more. There were two men in the first wagon whom he would have gladly and without hesitation slain, had he the means to do it. Goryk Gillow and Mardar Zo: he didn’t know their names, but they stank of evil.

But what they carried with them was worse. Whenever he came close to their wagon, he felt the power of that something. He felt it on his skin, just as you might step out from a cool, shady place into a sizzling summer day and feel the heat on your skin. Wytt realized that the human beings didn’t feel it; otherwise they couldn’t endure to travel in that wagon with it.

It galled him to be out on the plains where there were no other Omah. Sometimes in the distance he could see low hills, the grave-mounds of Obann’s ancient cities. He knew he would find Omah there, but the mounds were too far away. If only he could dash off to one of them some night and come back with a hundred pairs of savage little hands! He had a lock of Ellayne’s hair around his neck: if the Omah saw it, they would follow him. If only he had Ellayne, too—but that was a kind of thought that was more human than Omah, and it didn’t stay in his mind for long.

As they drew near to Ninneburky and the other towns along the river, Jack imagined the baron riding up with all his men and Goryk Gillow destroying them. It would happen right before his eyes, he and Martis being unable to prevent it. There could be no doubt that Goryk had some kind of weapon that the Thunder King had salvaged from the Day of Fire. Martis had for a long time dreaded such a thing.

“He hasn’t mentioned it to me,” Martis said. “Every evening, over supper, he picks my brain for information about Obann City and the Temple. He says he trusts me and has great plans for me. But he doesn’t share his secret.”

“But doesn’t he know you saw him use the weapon on the Zeph?”

“No, he doesn’t know that.”

“He’ll use it again, though—won’t he?”

Martis nodded. “It’s going to be bad,” he said.

“Can’t you stop him? You were an assassin!”

That hit close to home, but Martis didn’t answer. Yes, he could stop Goryk. He could kill him and the mardar, some evening, before anyone else could bat an eye. And then the guards would kill him and Jack, and someday someone else would take the Thunder King’s weapon to Obann. If he were alone, he would have already done the deed. But he’d made a vow before God to defend Ellayne and Jack, and he would keep it.

“If we can escape after we get to Obann,” he told Jack, “then we’ll see what we can do. It’s all a matter of recognizing your chance when you see it.”

I may not be an assassin anymore, he thought, but I can still think like one.

In great state, the false King Ryons was also on his way to Obann.

Prester Jod had assembled a noble cavalcade, with a pure white palfrey for Gurun to ride and a great shining black steed for himself, and bright robes and finery for all.

“I don’t see the point of all this flummery,” Uduqu said. He refused to ride any kind of horse all the way to Obann, nor would he let himself be clothed in any but his own travel-stained Abnak leggings and a deerskin shirt that he only wore if it was cold or raining. He would walk beside Fnaa, with the giant’s sword propped on his shoulder: it was too long to be worn on a belt.

“As you wish,” said Jod, who was as handsome a man as Uduqu was a homely one. “But it seems to me that we ought to arrive at Obann with as grand a show as we can make. The more the people love and honor their king, the safer he’ll be.”

Gurun still hadn’t told the poor man that Fnaa was an imposter. Uduqu was content to leave that up to her.

She looked a sight, he thought, in her sky-blue traveling dress, seated on the white horse with the scarlet and gold furnishings, and a delicate silver tiara on her head that fairly gleamed in the sun. “What Abnak has ever clapped eyes on such a queen?” he said to himself. “It’ll give me something to write about, if I can ever learn to write.”

Fnaa rode his grey horse, Dandelion, with her blond mane and tail. He’d learned to ride without falling off, and now he liked it.

Since he was going to Obann to receive a crown, he didn’t wear one now. But Jod had found for him a white tunic and scarlet boots, both trimmed with cloth of gold that dazzled the eye, and a small sword with jewels in its hilt in a sheath decorated with flashing garnets. Around his neck he wore a gold chain with a ruby worth the price of many slaves. Behind him on a gentle white donkey—she wanted nothing to do with horses—rode his mother, Dakl, pretending to be his handmaid.

“Nothing can come of this but trouble!” she whispered to Gurun, before they set out. But for the time being, Fnaa was enjoying himself. He could hardly wait to get to Obann. “I’ll take the tax money from those fat men,” he said, “and throw it back to the people in the street.”

Behind them marched General Hennen with his spearmen all in mail, five hundred men in perfect step together. These were the best that Hennen had. They knew what their commander thought of them and marched proudly, polished helms and spear-points gleaming.

Only Uduqu knew that Gurun planned to go on to Lintum Forest, where the real king was. “My place is with him,” she said. “The filgya told me.”