The Fugitive Prince (Bell Mountain) (30 page)
Read The Fugitive Prince (Bell Mountain) Online
Authors: Lee Duigon
Greatly reassured, Sunfish left them. But May asked her husband, “Why would you ever go to Obann?”
Hlah shrugged. “I’d like to see the king again,” he said. “And maybe I said something because I knew it would comfort Sunfish. Everybody loves him, but we all know he’s a little mad. And maybe he’s more of a prophet than he knows! But if I do go to Obann, I’ll take you and our baby with me, too. That is, if you’d like to go.”
May grinned at him. “Me, see Obann? Yes, I think I’d like that very much!”
In Obann, the king commanded that Merffin Mord and his fellows be allowed the use of the great hall in the palace, there to meet whenever they pleased, as the new High Council of Oligarchs.
The first thing the council did was to proclaim that the Temple should be reestablished, and someday rebuilt, as “the spiritual center and heart of Obann,” complete with a new First Prester to be elected as soon as all the presters in the land could be summoned to the city for a conclave. At the same time, the Oligarchy was to be restored, to manage the affairs of Obann.
Alone in his office, Gallgoid read the proclamation, copies of which had been posted all along the streets:
“Be it known that although the great edifice was destroyed in the late war, the Temple of the Lord remains the spiritual center and heart of Obann and shall continue, so that the people of Obann might be guided in the practice of religion; and that the presters of Obann shall assemble in this city to elect a new First Prester; and that the Temple edifice shall be rebuilt, by the grace of God, in all its former glory.
“And be it known that the governance of Obann shall be, as it has always been, invested in an Oligarchy, to govern in King Ryons’ name; and that said King Ryons shall continue in his office, by the grace of God; and that Merffin Mord, in the king’s name, shall serve as governor-general of the Council at His Majesty’s pleasure. Amen.”
Gallgoid suppressed a laugh.
“How long will it take them,” he wondered, “to decide they can save themselves a great deal of money by making peace with the Thunder King and recognizing his New Temple as the Temple of the Lord? And how long before the peace they make with him is transformed into submission?”
They gave themselves such airs! The last governor-general, Lord Ruffin, who perished in the defense of the city, would have thrown Merffin into prison—once he’d finished laughing at the man’s pretensions. Ruffin had been a wise man. He would have recognized a dangerous folly when he saw it.
As did Gallgoid. “I can’t jail this fool, as Ruffin would have done,” he thought; “but I’ll find a way to clip his wings.”
Preceptor Constan read the proclamation and then had a private audience with Gurun.
“This is, pure and simple, a treason against the king,” he said. “Do they think the Lord decreed the destruction of the Temple for nothing? We’re blessed that God let us off as easily as that! Do these fools not know God’s mercy when they see it?” For Constan, that was an impassioned speech, and by now Gurun knew him well enough to recognize it as such.
“What do you think the presters will say?” she asked.
“Godly men will do God’s will. The others will choose a new First Prester and try to have everything back the way it was.
“You are young, Gurun, but you have understanding. You’ll remember that I, at first, didn’t believe in the Lost Book. I was sure it was a fraud. But as I read the scrolls and studied them, God opened my eyes and I understood what He was telling us. I understand why Ozias’ last writings were kept hidden until now.”
Gurun nodded, out of respect. She was a Fogo Islander: they’d never had the Temple there, so it was easy for her to imagine life without it. But for a man like Constan, it must be very hard, she thought.
“God will not have His spirit confined in the Temple anymore,” he said, “with presters and scholars hoarding His word like misers, keeping it to themselves and never making any use of it. The Temple’s time is over. God is making a much greater temple for Himself, one made without human hands, inside the human heart. And all nations, in the end, will come to worship Him there.” He paused. “But in the meantime, in our own time, we must protect King Ryons.”
Gurun suppressed a wince. The preceptor didn’t know that the boy cutting capers in the palace wasn’t Ryons, and it was not her place to tell him. He would understand the need for keeping it a secret. The day the likes of Merffin Mord found out the truth would be the end of Ryons’ reign in Obann. In secrecy lay the only hope of safety.
“What can we do,” she said, “but to continue with our work? King Ozias’ words, and all of God’s word, must be preached to all the people. Even my poor pagan Blays hunger for it! And in this they are wiser than the people of Obann, who never seemed to care that the Scriptures were being kept from them for all those years.”
“My copyists are working as hard as they can,” said Constan, “and I’ve recruited seminary students to go out and preach as soon as we have books for them. Maybe by the winter we’ll be ready.”
“God will help us,” Gurun said.
While they talked, Fnaa ran up and down the longest corridor in the palace, kicking a leather ball. Dyllyd, his tutor, ran after him.
“Please, Your Majesty!” he cried. “It’s time for your lessons!”
“Bogs on lessons!” Fnaa answered. “I’m the king; I don’t need lessons!”
Dyllyd was a young man who took his duties seriously. Like everyone else in the palace, he understood that the king had had a sickness that had robbed him of his memory. Why it should have also robbed him of his good sense, and of all his understanding of what a king should be, Dyllyd was at a loss to understand. The boy was very deeply changed, and all the tutor’s pleading was in vain. The boy king whooped and rejoiced as the ball caromed off a famous suit of armor on a stand, making it rattle noisily, and Dyllyd cringed at the sound.
Uduqu entered the corridor and caught the ball just as the king’s next kick sent it flying right at his face.
“Oh, fine catch!” Fnaa cried.
“Chieftain, forgive it!” Dyllyd said. “His Majesty didn’t see you coming. I’ve been trying to get him to sit down for his reading lesson. Please don’t be angry!”
“I don’t need a lesson! Give me the ball, Uduqu!”
Uduqu noticed two or three servants watching discreetly from farther down the hall. Before the midday meal was served, he thought, the whole serving staff would know about the king’s behavior, and the whole city by nightfall. “One more story about what a simpleton the poor king turned out to be,” he thought. “As if they hadn’t heard enough already.”
“Run along, Dyllyd,” he said. “I’ll be coming to you for my own lesson, by and by. But first I want to have a word with our king.”
Dyllyd bowed deeply and fled to his classroom. The other servants ducked out of sight when Uduqu made a point of looking at them.
“Dyllyd’s afraid of you,” Fnaa said. “They all are. And yet when you go out on the street, children follow you around.”
“Shows they’ve got no sense!” Uduqu said. He took Fnaa by the shoulder and steered him into a less frequented corridor. “Anyone would think you didn’t have much sense, either.”
“My mother taught me that if I played the fool, I’d be safe.”
“Let’s not talk too loud.” Uduqu lowered his voice. “Have you heard about the proclamation by that fine new council of yours?”
“I read it. Don’t stare at me like that! I do know how to read—learned it before I ever came here.”
“Did your mother teach you?”
“No—she can’t read. I just picked it up on my own.”
“Smart boy—and you let poor Dyllyd think he’s teaching you.” Uduqu grinned. “I had him read the thing to me this morning. I can’t say I understand what those belly-scratchers are getting at, but it doesn’t sound good. Sounds to me like I’d better keep my knife nice and sharp. They’re up to something.”
“I only pretend to be a fool,” Fnaa said, “but Merffin is the real thing.”
“Fools can be dangerous, boy. Don’t you forget it.”
“I won’t. But my ma said you’re the one who’d better watch himself. She says you’re like a baby, here in the palace.”
Uduqu chuckled. “That’s what I want everyone to think,” he said.
Jandra sat in the stable-yard, humming to herself and playing. Abgayle watched over her and daydreamed of Lintum Forest. She was homesick for it.
Jandra played with her bird, if you want to call it a bird. It had feathers and wings, but it also had a beak full of sharp teeth. The creature never left her side, and all the servants were afraid of it. Jandra made little heaps of pebbles, which the bird squawked at and kicked over, and that made her laugh.
In the middle of one of those games she suddenly looked up at Abgayle and said, “I shall set Ozias’ throne in Lintum Forest.” And having spoken her prophetic utterance, her eyes rolled and she fell asleep sitting up.
Abgayle gathered her up in her arms and hustled to put her to bed, the bird chasing after them. Then she rushed to find Queen Gurun, because someone had to be told that Jandra had prophesied again. With Obst and all the chieftains gone out of the city, Abgayle didn’t know who else to tell. “They should have taken us with them!” she thought.
“What can it mean?” Gurun wondered.
“Who knows?” said Abgayle. “Obst would know, but he’s not here. I’ve told you because prophecies mustn’t be ignored.”
“I won’t ignore this one,” Gurun promised. And before sundown four of General Hennen’s men were riding after the departed army as fast as they could go, to deliver the prophecy to Obst.
Wytt could not explain why he insisted on chasing after Ryons. Omah don’t explain things. He simply broke into the conversation between Martis and the children and declared that they must follow him to Lintum Forest. He stood among them as they sat on the ground, chattering at them like an angry squirrel.
“Wytt, you don’t understand,” Ellayne said. “We have to go back to Obann.”
“No, no—first we catch Skinny.” That was his name for Ryons. He didn’t have a word for “city,” or “Obann,” but he understood what Ellayne was telling him and struck his sharpened stick against the ground. “You come, not go back.”
Martis couldn’t understand any of the Omah’s vocalizations, but he knew the children could. “Ask him why, Ellayne,” he said.
