The Last Banquet (Bell Mountain) (22 page)

“By this time two days from now, we will have reached the pass, First Prester,” he said. “I am told it used to be called Bear Pass, and was only good enough for trading men and Abnak raiding parties. No good for an army! But this road has changed everything—even the name of the pass. Now it shall be called the Golden Pass.”

“Why golden?” asked Reesh.

The mardar grinned at him. “Soon you will see for yourself!” he said.

Angel the hawk had already seen. Flying up as high as the bottom of the clouds, her eye caught a far-off glint of gold. No human eye would have seen it at that distance. Because it was something that should not have been there, she swooped eastward for a closer look. Many miles that would have wearied man or beast to trek slipped away under her wings. Riding the air currents, she hardly had to flap her wings. In moments she was out of Helki’s sight, far down below. His eyes followed her as far as they could, and his thought, much farther.

Where before she’d seen a wall flung across the pass and a stockade, she now saw swarms of men within the stockade working like ants. It unsettled her to see so many.

They were building a hall, a very great hall, and had already set up the strong timbers that proclaimed its size and shape. Wherever the sun peeked through the clouds, its rays struck sheets of gold. These were laid out on the ground: a human would have been hard-put to count them, and the hawk didn’t try. But a human would have guessed that the gold was meant for the walls and for the roof so that the whole building would be golden.

Angel felt a strong compulsion to keep her distance from the place. She was a brave bird, with little experience of fear; but this new thing in the mountains made her uneasy. Had she been able to speak, she couldn’t have told you why. It was a fear that had no name. It was like black water seeping up inside her. With a shrill cry of defiance, she turned away from it.

When she returned to Helki, he looked into her eyes and knew she’d seen something evil. He held her in his arms to comfort her. Cavall looked up at them anxiously.

“Boys,” he said to the Griffs who followed him, “people who’ve got any sense don’t make war in the winter; but something tells me war is coming. The question is, where do we want to be when it comes, and how much time have we got to get there? We ought to have an army, and there are only thirteen of us—fourteen, counting Cavall.”

A Griff named Shalla said, “If we keep on going east, we’ll find the war soon enough. It’s going to pour down from the mountains.” The others nodded. “But we have put our lives in your hands, Giant-slayer. Lead us where you will.”

“If I had any sense, I’d go back to Lintum Forest where I belong,” said Helki.

“If we stretch our legs, and if we can cross the rivers, we can get to Lintum Forest in seven days,” Tiliqua said. “Maybe we can find an army there.”

Maybe we could, at that, Helki thought. There were the settlers. There were the robber bands he’d conquered. Maybe he could scare up a hundred good men.

“Lintum’s where I come from,” he said. He wished Obst were here, or Jandra, to advise him. “And God is there, as He is everywhere. Maybe back in Lintum Forest, God will speak to me.”

Chief Shaffur and a hundred of his riders met the king before his party came in sight of Obann. The tall Wallekki was without his feathered headdress. Instead, he wore a bandage round his forehead, and some blood had seeped through. He seemed to take no notice of Gurun riding beside the king.

“What news, Chieftain?” asked the subchief who rode with Ryons.

“Your Majesty,” Shaffur said, “the city has risen against us and you are locked out. Except for me and these few warriors, the rest of your people are locked in. We were lucky to fight our way out before it was too late.”

It took Ryons a moment to grasp what Shaffur was saying. Locked out of his city? But Uduqu understood at once.

“What of our people in the city?” he said. “Do they live? Can they be rescued?”

“I don’t know. We got out yesterday. It was necessary for us to escape so we could warn you. When we left, our people held the palace, with Chief Spider and General Hennen in command.”

“How much fighting?” Uduqu asked.

Shaffur flashed a grin at him. “Once they saw your Abnaks waiting for them with stone tomahawks, the rebels kept their distance. Most of the fighting was at the gate: they tried to keep us in. There would have been much more, but Obst restrained the chiefs. It took some doing to hold back Zekelesh and his Fazzan. They longed to wash their spears!”

Ryons found his voice. “But what happened?” he cried. “How did it get started?”

“It was those young men who started it—the ones who say we burned their Temple.” Shaffur frowned. “Hennen warned us they’d make trouble.”

Gurun spoke no tribe-talk, but she could see that something bad had happened.

“But Obst is safe?” said Ryons. “And Nanny?”

“Sire, none of your people have been killed,” Shaffur said, “although a few were hurt when the rebels pelted us with stones. Obst is safe in the palace. I don’t know about Nanny; but Zekelesh is guarding her, so she should be safe enough.

“But the rebels have manned the walls and blocked the gates, and throngs of them surround the palace, ready to stone anyone who shows his face. Before long the chiefs must drive them back, and then there will be killing. Maybe, now that you’ve returned, we’re strong enough to fight our way back into the city.”

“I don’t doubt we are,” Uduqu said, “but I wonder what Obst would say. I don’t think he’d like it.”

Ryons didn’t know what Obst would say, but he did know what God had said—it seemed a lifetime ago, but it was only this just-past summer—when He spoke through Jandra. Ryons heard it again in his mind: “Wherever you go, I am with you; whatever you do, I shall protect you.”

“Chief Shaffur,” he said, “take me to my city. I want to talk to the people.”

Gurun couldn’t understand what Ryons said, but the warrior with the bandaged forehead stared hard at him. This was a boy speaking to a seasoned man of war: and in the man’s eyes was something that saw not a boy, but a king. Maybe even more than a king—Gurun thought there was awe in his expression. And all the men around the king fell silent and still—grown men doing honor to a boy.

Shaffur pressed his fingertips to his lips and bowed his head. That was how the Wallekki saluted a great lord. “As Your Highness commands!” he said.

“There’s trouble in the city,” Ryons explained to Gurun, as they rode toward Obann. “Some of the people think we burned down the Temple. It isn’t true. The fire was already burning when I first saw the city, and our men hadn’t got there yet.”

“But you saved the city, didn’t you?” Gurun asked.

“God did it all. I just tried to hold on!” He told her how the great beast followed him across the plains, then picked him up and set him on its back and scattered the Heathen. “But now the people have locked us out of the city, and most of our men are trapped inside.”

“What are you going to do?” Gurun wondered.

He shrugged. “Ask them to open the gate and let us in,” he said. “Or else let my people out—and then we’ll go away.”

He didn’t know how to tell her that God had made him a king, who was a slave, and given him Obann. Not that he didn’t believe it. After everything that had happened, he had to believe it. But he didn’t know how to talk about it.

Gurun looked down from the hills upon the city of Obann, where there were more people than on all the northern islands put together, and great buildings like mountains, and a vast wall all around it. South of the wall stretched the silver ribbon of the river; and across the river she saw the wilderness of stone and rubble that was the ruins of Old Obann.

“Is this a dream?” she marveled. But it was too fantastic for a dream: no one born on Fogo Island could ever dream a thing like this. Besides, there were people all around her, and the sun shining, and a nip of winter in the air, plus the horse she was riding and the smell of horses all around her. This was no dream. They were up on a hill, and the road before them led straight down to the city, just a mile or two away. She hardly knew what to make of it.

Then she saw a man out in front of the king’s company, marching alone. He hadn’t been there an eyeblink ago.

At that moment he turned and looked at her, and smiled—a fine, tall man, young, with flowing golden hair and beard, eyes of icy blue, clad in gorgeously dyed and patterned woolen clothes, with sealskin boots on his feet and a short sword thrust into his sealskin belt: a man of the North, an islander.

“Filgya!” she gasped.

“Stay close to the king, Gurun,” he called to her—and no one else heard him, although he spoke up loud and clear and in the language of the islands. “Don’t leave his side.”

Gurun couldn’t help turning to look at the boy king. He was staring straight at the filgya, leaning forward in his saddle like someone keenly listening. Great heavens! Did Ryons see it, too? But when Gurun turned again, the filgya wasn’t there anymore.

“Your Majesty!” she said. “Did you see that man?”

“Yes!” Ryons answered. “And I saw him once before, when I was on my way to Obann. He said he was a servant of the Lord. He told me I would cross the river. Obst said he might have been an angel. He said God was pleased with me, and that someday he would speak to me again—and he just has.”

What had Ryons seen? That was not the filgya, Gurun thought. A filgya was never visible to but one person at a time. But could there be two of them in the same place at once?

“What did he say to you just now?” she asked.

“Only that I should go down to the city and that God is with me.” His eyes widened. “You didn’t see him, too! Did you?”

“What did he look like?” Gurun said.

“Just an old man with a white beard.”

They’d each seen someone different—and no one else saw anything at all. Or had they? “Ask one of those riders if he saw anyone,” she said.

Ryons asked Chagadai, the captain of the Ghols. Chagadai looked at him quizzically. “What do you mean, Father?” he said. “There was no one out in front of us. Are you all right?”

“Yes—I just thought I saw someone.” Ryons didn’t try to tell Chagadai any more than that—not now, at least. He turned back to Gurun. “They didn’t see him. Only you and I did. What does it mean?”

“It means that God is with us, like the old man said,” Gurun answered. “I will go with you to the city.” How could she tell him she’d seen a different personage and received a different message? “Maybe that’s just how it is with filgyas,” she thought. It wasn’t as if there was anyone alive who understood the ways of filgyas.