The Last Banquet (Bell Mountain) (14 page)

She had to explain what a filgya was. Neither Loyk nor Shingis had ever heard of such a thing.

Shingis listened intently. “You never tell us this before!” he said.

“I knew you wouldn’t let me go to the city,” she answered. “But at least you should let me send Tim, while I stay here with you, as I have promised.”

“No one has asked old Tim if he will go,” the trapper said. “Not that I’d mind a visit to the city.”

“Maybe you will get a chance to speak to the king,” Gurun said. “You must tell him about us, and tell him that I want to see him.”

“If there is a king!”

“A filgya doesn’t lie.”

Loyk shook his head. “I wonder if it was an angel that you saw,” he said.

“Perhaps my filgya was a kind of angel,” Gurun said. “If he was, it would be well to do as he said.”

“What is angel?” Shingis asked.

“A servant of God,” said Loyk. “Sometimes they come down from Heaven, and people see them. So the Scripture says. Angels can appear as men or women, but they aren’t really men or women. They are spirits.”

Shingis stared at Gurun, and she saw fear in his eyes; yet she knew him for a brave man. She hoped he didn’t fear her. It wouldn’t be right.

“You send Tim—yes!” he said. “But you stay, make prayers for us. We much fear Obann’s God.”

“The fear of God is the beginning of wisdom,” Loyk said.

Tim set out the next day, accompanied by a strong, young plowman who’d been to Obann once and knew the way. Shingis wouldn’t let any of his own men go. He was sure that any Blay who set foot in Obann would be killed. He made Tim swear not to mention them.

“I don’t think they’d bother to send an army out to Jocah’s Creek, just for you,” Tim said. “Anyhow, there ain’t going to be a king in Obann, no matter what anybody’s filgya says. But Osker and I’ll come back and tell you everything we see and hear. It’ll be good to know what’s been happening in the rest of the world.”

Thanks to the Blays’ slings and spears, Tim and Osker would be able to make the trip in style, on horseback. No one in the village could tell them much about the art of horsemanship, but they would have a journey of a hundred miles in which to learn it for themselves. The whole village turned out to wave them good-bye and wish them luck.

“If there is a king in Obann,” said Loyk, when the riders had passed out of sight, “it means that everything has changed. Whether the change be good or bad, we’ll see.”

“They’ll be back inside a week,” Gurun said. “And then we’ll know.”

In Obann, Captain Hennen—now General Hennen—had just returned from breaking up an angry mob that had gathered before the ruins of the Temple. Now he was reporting to the king and his advisers in the private council chamber of the oligarchs’ administration building.

“We were able to move them along without breaking any heads,” he said, “but it might be harder, next time. I don’t like what I’m hearing in the streets.”

“It’s the seminary students, isn’t it?” Obst said.

“They do most of the talking,” Hennen said. “They’re angry, and anybody can see what makes them so. They went into the seminary so they could be ordained as presters someday and rule over chamber houses. But if there’s no Temple, they can’t become presters. They want everything back the way it was.”

Obst translated. He only had to speak, and every man present heard it in his own language: that was the gift God gave him when he climbed Bell Mountain. Most of King Ryons’ chieftains still hadn’t learned Obannese.

Old Chief Spider was ailing and had been brought to the meeting on a litter. His attendants had had to move him into a chair and stand beside him to make sure he didn’t fall out of it. His head kept nodding; but now he propped it up with his hands and spoke.

“It would be too bad if God saved this city, and its own people destroyed it. We asked them if they wanted a king, and they said yes! If they’d said no, we’d have all gone back to Lintum Forest.

“These are very foolish people here in Obann. They know it was King Ryons who rode the great beast and scattered their enemies like dust. That was a miracle. Only the power of God could have made it happen.”

He coughed, hard, and it was some moments before he could continue. His shaved scalp gleamed with sweat. The scars on his face were pale against his skin.

“I won’t live much longer,” he said. “I don’t mind. My eyes have seen great things. I’ve taken many scalps, and I have three strong sons. Best of all, I’ve lived long enough to come to know the true God, whose mercy endureth forever. That’s the battle anthem of our army, and I hope it always will be. So I depart with no regrets. Soon I’ll worship God before His face. Even so, I’d like to see these troubles all cleared up before I go. Two things I advise.

“First, let these people see their king more often. Let them hear his voice. Among us Abnaks, great chiefs don’t seclude themselves in palaces. These city folk must see their king and be reminded how he came to them, riding on a giant’s back.

“But also, as soon as may be, send back to Lintum Forest for the little girl who is a prophet. God speaks through her. We’ve all heard this with our own ears. Let Obann hear it, too. Bring her to this city. If nothing else, maybe that filthy bird that follows her around will scare these people to their senses.”

“Yes, yes—he’s right!” In a dozen different languages, the chiefs barked their assent. It was Jandra who’d told them, in a voice that was certainly not her own, that Ryons was to be their king, and king of Obann. It seemed like lunacy at the time, but it had come to pass.

Obst turned to the boy king. “Your Majesty?” he said.

“Oh, yes—bring Jandra!” Ryons answered. Just to hear her name again reminded him how happy he’d been, for the little time he’d lived in Lintum Forest. It made him think of Jandra, who used to toddle after him in play, and of Szugetai, who’d bequeathed his men to him. Szugetai fell in a battle, but it’d be good to see Jandra again. And going back to Lintum Forest would be even better, Ryons thought.

“But we already have a prophet—Nanny Witkom!” This objection came from Zekelesh, chief of the Fazzan—fleet-footed men who wore wolf’s heads when they went into battle. Zekelesh spoke not a word of Obannese, but he was a friend to Nanny Witkom. “Why don’t we ask Nanny what we ought to do?”

Nanny didn’t attend meetings. She spent most of her time now resting in her old rocking chair at the house of the late Lord Gwyll, where she’d been nurse to the general’s children. She wanted to be there when Gwyll’s wife returned. Since the rescue of the city, Nanny had made no prophetic utterances.

“Yes, let’s hear Nanny,” Chief Shaffur said. “Maybe God will speak to us through her, like He did before.”

Zekelesh ran off to fetch her; he knew the way. While they awaited his return, the chieftains discussed the problem posed by the seminary students. “We ought to drive them out of the city—ungrateful dogs!” Shaffur said; but Obst argued against it. “They don’t understand what God has done,” he said. “They need more time.” But he could not say how much more.

Ryons tried to follow the discussion. He didn’t understand much of it, but he did understand that whatever the chieftains decided to do would be done in his name—whether he understood their decision or not.

Wherever he went in the city, his bodyguard went with him—fifty horsemen from the far, far East, Ghols, Szugetai’s men, who addressed the boy king as “father.” Ryons loved them; but lately he’d seen very little love for them in the eyes of people in the city. The same could be said of all the four thousand men of his army. The people of Obann didn’t like them.

“Soon they won’t like me, either,” Ryons thought. But Obst and Jandra both said it was God’s will that he should be king in Obann, and there was no going against that.

His ride on the shoulders of the giant beast seemed like a dream to him now. Sometimes he found it hard to believe that such a thing had really happened.

Zekelesh and a few of his men came back with Nanny Witkom, carrying her in a chair affixed to poles. She looked old and frail, Ryons thought, and half-asleep. Maybe she should have been left alone.

“Nanny, we’re sorry to disturb you,” Obst said, “but the chieftains wish you to inquire of the Lord for them.” He told her about the disturbances in the city, but she didn’t let him finish.

“Yes, yes, I know all about that!” she said, waving him to silence. “Servants tell me everything. The people want their Temple back. They’re afraid God won’t hear their prayers without the Temple.

“But how many times do I have to tell you? I’m not a pump—jerk the handle up and down, and out comes prophecy like water. I know the Lord sent me to you and spoke to you through me while we were marching to the city. I can even remember little pieces of it. But that’s all over now.”

The chieftains fretted, but she paid no heed to them.

“I was dozing in my poor Lord Gwyll’s garden,” she went on, “and I was having such a dream! It was a funny kind of dream—I wasn’t in it. But I dreamed I saw a great hall, as great as anything in Obann—but I don’t know where it was—and in the middle of it was a table. There’s no table like it anywhere. You could drive a horse and a cart down the middle of it. And there were great lamps burning everywhere, a thousand lamps, and the wood of the table shone like polished copper.

“And all around the table there were chiefs, like you, in big, fancy chairs—men in such finery, you could hardly bear to look at it. And at one end of the table sat Lord Reesh, the First Prester. He used to come to Lord Gwyll’s house sometimes, so I knew him right away. And there he was, alive. I didn’t know any of the other people there. Just him.

“They were all feasting and drinking; and behind them, all around the table, there were statues, some of wood, some of stone. They were very queer-looking statues, and I couldn’t tell what they were. Idols, maybe. But it was quite a feast those men were having—and then Zekelesh came along and woke me up, before I could find out what it was all about.” She sighed and closed her eyes. Obst nodded, and Zekelesh’s men carried her out of the council chamber.

“So much for that!” said Shaffur. “We’ll need the little girl, after all, if we’re to have a prophet.”

“I don’t know,” Chief Spider said. “Dreams may often tell us secret things. We Abnaks set great store by them.”

“She dreamed of Lord Reesh,” Obst said. “I do wonder what that could mean, if anything. His bones lie mixed with the rubble of the Temple, and yet she dreamed of him alive.”

Uduqu laughed. “If half of what I’ve heard of that old toad is true,” he said, “then he’s feasting in Hell with all the other sinners!” They all laughed at that; but Ryons noticed that Obst didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile.

Helki and Cavall pressed on, following the Griffs’ trail. Helki set a fast pace, gaining on them day by day. Soon he would see whether they’d crossed the Imperial River or turned northeast to march along the Chariot.

Toward noon one day the hawk, circling overhead, came back to him with a piercing cry. Helki held out his arm and she landed on it.

“Good, Angel, good! Strangers up ahead, eh? Too bad you can’t tell me how many of them.” Whatever men these were, he thought, they were downwind. That was why Cavall hadn’t yet scented them. But Angel saw them: very good, indeed, he thought.

“We’ll creep up on them, careful-like,” Helki told the hound. “I’d like to parley with them. Maybe they’ve seen those Griffs.”

The land rose gently, just ahead, crowned with clumps of waxbush: good cover. Helki sent Angel aloft again, squeezed the scruff of Cavall’s neck to keep him close and quiet, and advanced at a walk. His feet made no sound. As he neared the top of the rise, he dropped to hands and knees. He crawled just as silently as he walked.

He peered down from the bushes and got a surprise—there were Griffs down there. He knew them by their hairdos: only Griffs took such trouble with their hair. There were only a dozen of them, so they might not be the same Griffs he was following.

“A round dozen,” he muttered. “Shouldn’t be too many for us, Cavall, if they’re in a mood to fight. But talking would be better.” He stood up. “Come on,” he said.

With the big dog loping alongside, and the hawk circling above, Helki strolled down the slope, handling his staff like an ordinary traveler’s walking stick. He spoke Griffish passably, but if these Griffs didn’t wish to talk, he trusted in the eloquence of his staff. When the men looked up and saw him, he waved to them and kept on coming. The Griffs drew swords and knives.

“Rest easy, boys—I come in peace,” he said. The Griffs seemed not to believe him. Cavall growled. But before any blows could be struck on either side, one of the Griffs shouted at his fellows.

“Stop, you fools! Don’t you know who that is? It’s the man who killed the giant! Don’t you remember Shogg, the son of Sezek—that Zamzu man-eater? I was there, I saw it! This man killed Shogg as easy as you’d swat a fly! Haven’t we trouble enough, without picking a fight with him?”

The others were quick to see reason. Shogg had been a legend in the Heathen army, its champion. They thought he was worth fifty ordinary men.