The Last Banquet (Bell Mountain) (26 page)

At last, the Golden Pass: but the first thing Lord Reesh saw was a stone wall stretched across it, with three massive wooden gates. The wall, a good twelve feet high, spanned the gap between two mountain peaks. Above each gate rose a fighting tower, where a catapult might be installed. Men with spears marched back and forth along the top of the wall. A deep-voiced horn sounded, and the middle gate swung open.

“A nice piece of fortification,” Gallgoid said. “Not that anyone in Obann would dream of sending an army across the mountains. I wonder why they took the trouble to build that wall.”

“It proclaims their master’s power,” Reesh said.

Behind Mardar Kyo on his horse, the coach passed through the gate; and then the passengers saw something worth seeing.

“Behold! This is greatness!” Reesh said.

It was a golden hall—walls sheathed in pure gold, golden roof, a pair of golden doors. And on the doors were raised figures of fabulous animals, monsters, and winged men with crowns. Had the sky not been totally overcast, the hall would have dazzled the eye. It was every bit as big as the Oligarchs’ Hall in Obann, but infinitely grander because of all the gold. Lord Reesh in his long life had never seen anything like it. Could there really be so much gold in all the world?

The coach stopped, and Kyo rode up to the window.

“Welcome to the Golden Pass, First Prester!”

“What is this glorious hall?” Reesh cried. “The top of a mountain pass seems a strange place for it.”

Kyo dismounted, stood closer to the window, and lowered his voice. “Can’t you guess, First Prester?” he said. “Wherever our master the Thunder King stops, there must be splendor.”

“He’s here?” Reesh whispered.

“He will spend the winter here, feasting and reveling, until the snows melt and he can lead an army down the mountain into Obann. He arrived here just two days ago, as soon as the golden hall was made ready for him. After you have rested from your journey and refreshed yourself, you will be privileged to meet him. He has a desire to look upon your face.”

Reesh’s heart fluttered. How could the Thunder King have known he would be here? How could Kyo have known what his master desired? “It was things like this that the ancients used to do,” he thought. “They spoke to one another over vast distances.” Could the Thunder King have rediscovered how that was done? Had he acquired the lost powers of the ancients? Reesh himself had dreamed of that very thing for years, dreamed fervently. But to think that dream might have now come true—it made him short of breath.

“Come, my lord,” said Kyo. “Quarters have been prepared for you, and hot food and wine. We will be stopping here some days.”

They didn’t stay in the hall itself, but in one of the many log cabins clustered around the hall. It had a fireplace with a fire in it, a bathtub with hot water in it, and clean clothes laid out on a pair of perfectly acceptable beds. One of Kyo’s men brought food and wine.

“Try to sleep, First Prester,” the mardar said, when he took his leave. “Our master the Thunder King understands that you’ve had a long, hard journey. He will send for you after you’ve had ample time to rest.”

But sleep eluded Reesh. Gallgoid had hardly finished eating when he stretched out on one of the beds and fell asleep. Lord Reesh soaked in the tub until the water was lukewarm, ate and drank his fill, and tried to enjoy the luxury of a warm bed with a feather mattress. His old bones appreciated it, but his mind could find no rest.

In truth, Reesh had never expected an audience with the Thunder King—certainly not until he’d been installed as First Prester in the New Temple. He was not prepared. He was old and weary, all alone, and out of his element. He missed his robes of office, the elegant appointments of the Temple, and his flock of servants. He felt more like a wandering hermit with a begging bowl than a prester: let alone First Prester.

What should he say to a man who claimed to be a god? What would such a man want to hear? Would he, Reesh, have to pretend he believed in this man’s divinity? How could he do that?

Finally he did fall asleep, after all, without even knowing it until Gallgoid shook him awake.

“Kyo is waiting, my lord—wake up. The Thunder King has sent for you.”

Their shoes crunched on frozen snow. Reesh was surprised to discover he’d slept through the night and much of the next day. It was now going on noon, and the cold air crackled in his nostrils. But he was dressed in clean furs, with a hot breakfast in his belly. It was only his spirit that was unready for this meeting.

The decorated doors of the hall swung open, and Mardar Kyo ushered him through. The hall’s interior blazed with the light of a hundred lamps, and more lamps hung on long, golden chains from the high ceiling.

This portion of the hall was partitioned off from the rest by hardwood walls polished to a high gloss, with brass-bound doors giving entrance to the other precincts. The floor here was slate covered with woven reed mats brightly dyed in red and yellow.

Two long, sturdy, hardwood tables stretched across the space: for this, Reesh saw, was a banqueting hall. Around the tables were arranged high seats like thrones, some of them occupied by mardars wearing furs—men of many nations, with wide gold collars around their necks, golden bracelets on their wrists, and golden cups before them filled with wine.

But none of this was what captured Reesh’s attention.

There was an aisle between the two tables with a rich red carpet on it, leading up to the six stone steps on a raised dais. Chained securely to this elevated dais was a creature the like of which Lord Reesh had never seen or heard of. A heavy collar and stout chains restrained it: a nightmare held in chains, Reesh thought.

He could liken it only to an enormous cat. Lord Reesh had never seen a lion in the flesh, although there were some in the Southern Wilds and Scripture recorded their presence, long ago in Obann itself; but he’d seen old woodcuts of them. The lion was the king of beasts, tradition said; but compared to this cat, a lion would seem like a kitten. This creature had massive shoulders like a bison’s, eyes that were like green fire—and a pair of fangs like long, curved knives or drawn swords protruding from its upper jaw. Whatever was the name of such a monster? There was nothing like it in Scripture, or even in the most lurid medieval fairy tale. Reesh’s heart clenched at the sight of it.

But on top of the dais was a throne, and on the throne a man—a man with a mask of gold over his face. He wore a shimmering robe of many colors that seemed to ripple into other colors as the eye ran over it. In his right hand he held a rod of ivory, tipped with a blood-red ruby the size of a dove’s egg.

Laboring to breathe, Lord Reesh followed Kyo onto the rug, onto the aisle between the tables; and then he stopped, behind Kyo, when the mardar halted before the throne. The chained cat glared at them.

Kyo spread his arms and bowed his head, dropped down on one knee.

“My master and my god,” he said, “I have brought you Lord Reesh, the First Prester of the Temple, from Obann. He has been obedient to your will and has come to you of his own free will.”

“Rise, Kyo.” The voice that issued from behind the mask had no particular character. Reesh wondered if it were a mask at all. “I will receive Lord Reesh in my chamber and grant him private audience.”

“As you wish, O Master.”

Without a sound, the Thunder King rose from his throne and descended the stone steps. The great cat shied from him, but he paid it no heed. A mardar sprang up from the table and opened one of the brass doors, and bowed his head as the man in gold glided past him and vanished into the interior. The mardar shut the door after him.

“You are being shown great favor!” Kyo said. “Wait until the door is opened to you, then go in. Have courage. Our master must be greatly pleased with you.”

After a wait that seemed excruciatingly long, Lord Reesh was admitted to the Thunder King’s own chamber. He had to grope his way along a shadowy corridor, with his legs threatening to fail him. At the end of it he found a door lit by a single lamp; and from behind the door a soft voice said, “Come.”

With trembling hands he opened the door, shut it behind him. He found himself in a small, windowless room, gently lit, walls hung with woolen curtains dyed red and gold, black and white, and soft rugs covering the floor.

“Sit, Lord Reesh. Don’t tax your strength.”

The words were in perfect Obannese. The Thunder King sat on a carved, high-backed chair with his mask set on a little table beside it. He had the face of a man—just a man.

Reesh felt for the nearest chair and gratefully lowered himself into it. His heart was playing him up. He hoped he wouldn’t faint.

But it was only a man who sat across the little room from him: a bearded man with fine but swarthy skin, glittering dark eyes. It was hard to guess his age. He looked like a man still some years shy of forty—but that was impossible, Reesh thought.

“Be at ease, First Prester. I know all about you. I have seen you through Mardar Kyo’s eyes and heard you through his ears. You sacrificed your own Temple to me, and I have accepted your offering. I welcome you into my service.”

Reesh nodded. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. How could the Thunder King be so young? Given his long career of conquering the East, he should have been at least sixty. But there wasn’t a grey hair on his head.

“Yes, Lord Reesh, I was very pleased that you offered up your Temple to me. You were prepared to sacrifice your city, too. I don’t hold it against you that the city still stands.”

“What does he want me to say?” Reesh wondered. “He’ll have me killed if I say the wrong thing.”

“Even a god,” said the Thunder King, “must be patient. By this time next year, the city of Obann will no longer exist. You do believe I am a god, don’t you? Be honest!”

Now he had to answer—and what answer could he make?

“My lord,” he said, “I am an old man, and many years out of the habit of believing. In God, that is—the God of Obann’s Scriptures.

“But I do believe in man—in his glorious past and in his future. I believe that you hold the key to that future. I am willing to serve you. I hope I’ve proved that.”

The Thunder King studied him. His expression was not unkindly, but even so, Lord Reesh began to sweat under his clothes. He was old, but not so old that he was ready to be killed. He felt like a mouse being studied by a snake.

“Whether or not you believe I’m a god, I am,” the Thunder King said. “I have put down and enslaved all the gods of the East. The God of Obann is the last that still resists me. In time he, too, will be my prisoner.

“For he is real, Lord Reesh: you were wrong not to believe in him. They’re all real, the gods. I have spoken with them. But I don’t wish to frighten you. I understand your weaknesses. In time you’ll come to believe in me, as all my people do. For now, I’m satisfied you wish to serve me, and I accept you as my servant. You will be First Prester at my New Temple at Kara Karram.”

Reesh bowed his head, which had begun to pound. “I am honored, my lord!” he said.