The Thunder King (Bell Mountain) (12 page)

From the highest watchtower over the East Gate of the city, Lord Gwyll and the governor-general watched the vast enemy gathering against the city. By the end of the day they were still coming, always more of them. Lord Ruffin shook his head.

“I wonder if their generals even know how many men they have!” he said.

“And I wonder how they’re going to keep them fed for any length of time,” said Gwyll. “My lord governor, the walls of this city are strong, and as long as we defend them bravely, twice as great a host as that below would not suffice to make a breach in them.

“Their best hope lies in fire, but we’re prepared for that. The fire-fighting teams are ready. Our catapults are more accurate than theirs and have a longer range. They won’t find it so easy to hurl fire at us while we’re throwing rocks and burning pitch at their machines.

“If they bring up rams to force the gates, our claw machines will pick them up and overturn them. If they assault in masses, our longbows will thin them out as they approach and our crossbowmen will decimate them when they’re closer.”

“You hearten me, Lord Gwyll!” Ruffin grinned at him; he was himself again.

“I speak only the truth, Lord Ruffin. If they can somehow manage to maintain the siege for two years, and outlast our food supply; or if the people lose heart and fail to put out fires when they’re started—well, then, we’re finished. But we’ll have made a fight of it.”

One more day on the plains, promised the Attakotts, and they would meet up with King Ryons’ army, which had left the forest and was marching west. The Attakotts could not explain why the army was doing that, and Martis was hard put to guess.

“What can Helki and the chieftains hope to do outside of the forest?” he wondered. “There’s no one left on the plains for them to fight, and they can’t be thinking of going anywhere near Obann.”

Jack and Ellayne were looking forward to delivering the scrolls into Obst’s hands—and then, maybe, going home again.

“My mother will cry when I come home. She always does,” Ellayne said. “My father will be furious, but not for long. If my brothers are there, too, they’ll pretend they never noticed I was gone. I might even get a good hiding for running away. And then I’ll tell them why I ran away and what we’ve done!”

She couldn’t imagine what they’d say. What do you say when your child turns out to be a hero, a servant of God, like a hero of the Scripture? She could hardly wait to see how they would try to handle it.

“I can’t say I like to think about going back to living with Van—not after where we’ve been and what we’ve seen,” Jack said.

“Oh, burn Van! You can come and live with us,” Ellayne said. “And what will you do, Martis?”

He looked troubled. “I don’t know,” he said. “The war has only just begun. The Temple will do anything it can to lay hands on you, and the scrolls. I haven’t looked any further than protecting you from day to day.”

“We’ll be safe with Helki and the army,” Jack said. “And I want to be there when Obst reads the scrolls and finds out what they mean. We went to enough trouble to get them!”

Martis let them talk. The whole world was on fire. Jack and Ellayne were children; they didn’t understand. They thought their part in these events was over. Maybe it was, but Martis strongly doubted it. Lord Reesh hadn’t forgotten them, and would not. The bell on Bell Mountain had been rung, and the veil that hid the summit of the mountain had been torn away. The world was changed, and these two children had been the instruments of change. For as long as he lived, Lord Reesh would have assassins looking for them.

And who could tell what further changes, what new disorders, might ensue? What if Obann City fell? What if it stood, and armies of barbarians broke up and scattered all over the country?

And what revelations might be found in the lost books of Scripture after Obst deciphered them—if he could?

“Will any of us go home again?” he wondered. But there was no ready answer to that question.

At first everything went just as Lord Gwyll and his officers had planned.

When the Heathen threw fireballs into the city, the people were ready with buckets of sand and thick mud from the river. That would put them out. If they tried to douse the fires with water, they only succeeded in spreading them. The fire-fighters soon learned not to do that. Even so, the fire would have been the death of Obann if not for the new catapults on the walls and the skill of the men who operated them. Keen-eyed observers marked where the fireballs came from, and stones and burning pitch were hurled back. They severely mauled the enemy’s machines and would have destroyed them all if the mardars had not pulled them back. Fewer and fewer fireballs landed inside the city. Harassed by counterfire, the enemy crews hurried, and many of their shots fell short.

When the Heathen masses tried to assault the walls, longbowmen cut them down from a distance, and when they came within range of the crossbows, they suffered shocking losses. Most of them wore no armor worthy of the name—not that armor was much help against the penetrating power of a crossbow.

When they brought up rams against the gates, the great iron pincers of the claw machines descended on the rams and clamped tightly; then the men on the walls turned the windlass, and the ram rose up on iron chains, hauled up high above the ground, and then released. The rams broke in pieces when they fell, and many Heathen warriors were crushed under those heavy timbers.

For three days the Thunder King’s commanders kept up the attack with every method known to them, and no success at all. Finally they pulled out of catapult range and began the Herculean labor of digging a moat all around the city.

“Why are they doing that?” Lord Ruffin wondered, watching from the walls with Gwyll. “They can’t cut off our access to the river. My only fear is that they’ll bring up boats to assault us by that route.”

“An army as great as theirs has to be kept busy, Lord Governor-general,” Gwyll said. “Idleness will do them more damage than all our weapons put together. As to an assault by water, our machines would sink their boats. They may yet try it, but it’ll do them no good.”

To Ryons’ amazement, the dog Cavall seemed to know exactly where to go. Ryons had no way of knowing it, but Cavall kept to paths that trended steadily southwest—the shortest route out of the forest.

The big dog caught rabbits and other edible creatures and dropped them at the boy’s feet. Ryons had to teach himself how to skin and clean them for his supper. Cavall led him to clumps of tasty mushrooms, the occasional bird’s nest on the ground, and assorted berry patches. He never failed to find drinkable water every day; and at night Ryons slept cuddled up to him, with the dog’s keen senses to protect them. He could hardly have been safer with Helki for his guide.

One thing Cavall could not do was keep him from missing all his friends at the castle. What would his Ghols think of him running out on them? They were sworn to him; they couldn’t go home; they called him their father, and each and every man of them would die for him. But he’d betrayed them.

A slave among the Wallekki has no honor and isn’t expected to have any. But now Ryons knew what honor was: it was doing what was right when there was no one to make you do it. The Ghols all had that kind of honor. Now he understood what it was, and the understanding came too late.

“Lord God, if you can hear me,” he prayed into the dark night, “and if you’ll give me another chance, I’ll do what’s right. I promise!”

No answer: well, why should there be? God was probably angry with him. God made him a king, and he ran away. That was probably why God was making him go to Obann—as a punishment.

But a man of honor takes his punishment and doesn’t run away, Ryons thought. And a king, whom all men obey, obeys God: Obst had made very sure to teach him that much. So to Obann he would go, because God commanded it.

Why God wanted him to go remained a mystery.

Four days’ traveling with Cavall brought him to the fringes of the forest. If he was by then a few pounds lighter, he was also stronger and quicker and quieter on his feet. He’d become so used to the shadowy shelter of the trees that the sunlit plain, when first he caught sight of it, looked bare and dangerous.

“Which way lies Obann, Cavall?” he said. “Well, how would you know? You’ve never been there, either. But Mary said we could ask anyone we meet.”

Cavall panted lightly. He couldn’t answer, but Ryons was convinced he understood every word you said to him.

And then, as if sent in answer to a prayer, he saw a man on horseback way out on the plain, all alone.

“There’s someone! Let’s go ask him if he knows the way.”

Cavall made some noises in his throat, but Ryons wasn’t listening. It had been days since he’d heard the sound of another human voice, and he wanted to speak to the man on the horse. He trotted out from under the trees and waved his arms over his head.

“Hey! Over here!” he called.

The horseman heard him. The horse turned in his direction and came straight toward him, no longer just walking, but not quite at a trot. Cavall growled. Maybe he’d never seen a horse before. Ryons gripped the loose skin on his neck.

“Quiet, dog! Didn’t Mary say I’d have to ask directions?”

The rider reined in and looked down at the boy and the dog. He was a handsome man with a curly brown beard, dressed in dark blue with a wide-brimmed hat of the same color. There were scarlet markings on his collar.

“Please, man-sir,” Ryons said, in very bad Obannese, “what way you say city Obann?”

“I hope you can speak Tribe-talk, or Wallekki,” the rider answered. “We’ll never understand each other if you don’t.”

“Yes—I speak Wallekki!” Ryons said. It was the language he spoke best, although anyone who looked could tell he wasn’t a Wallekki. “Can you tell me the way to the city of Obann?”

“It’s a good ways northwest of here, much too far to walk. But what’s a young fellow like you doing out here all alone? Where did you get that great big dog? And why do you want to go to Obann?”

Too many questions all at once, Ryons thought. He didn’t have answers ready. The man laughed at him.

“Tell you what, my lad,” he said. “Why don’t we sit down under yonder shady trees and have a little bite to eat? And you can tell me whatever you want to tell me while we’re resting.”

So that was what they did; and Ryons had to keep a very firm grip on the scruff of Cavall’s neck.

“That hound of yours doesn’t seem to like me much,” the man said, as he opened his canteen, took a drink, and passed it to Ryons. “I hope he’s not inclined to bite.”

“I’ve never known him to bite anyone,” Ryons said. “He’s just here to protect me. But what’s your name, and what are you doing here? Are you from Obann?”

“Edwydd’s my name; and yes, I’ve come from the city. I’ve been looking around for any bands of Obannese militia who might be wandering these parts, to tell them that they’re needed back home. Haven’t found any, though. Say—do you think your dog might take more kindly to me if I tossed him a snack?”

“You can try it,” said Ryons. Privately, he was glad the man was a little bit afraid of his dog.

Edwydd reached into a leather pouch attached to his belt, produced a morsel of dried meat, and tossed it gently to Cavall. The dog sniffed it once or twice, and then gobbled it down.

“There’s a good dog,” Edwydd said. “But you haven’t told me your name yet, nor what you’re doing out here all alone. You aren’t one of us, so who are you?”

“My name’s Shish,” Ryons said. Shish was one of his Ghols, a little crookbacked man who was the best knife-thrower in the army. “I was a slave with the Wallekki, in one of those armies that came across the mountains. I ran away into the forest, but I got lost. It was only by good luck that I found my way out. And I stole the dog from the Wallekki. He was my only friend in the camp, and I didn’t want to leave him behind.”

Edwydd smiled a cold smile. “The Wallekki don’t keep dogs as pets,” he said. “They have a superstition against it.”

“No, they don’t keep them as pets; but dogs follow them around,” Ryons said. “The dogs eat dead slaves, and eat a lot of the trash the Wallekki throw away. But they don’t just keep the camp clean. The dogs make it hard for any enemy to take the camp unawares. They make a racket if anybody comes too close. Anyhow, I sort of raised this dog myself, from the time he was a puppy. My master didn’t know.”