The Thunder King (Bell Mountain) (24 page)

All day long they marched, far from sight of the river but still following it eastward. It was going to be a very long journey, Martis said.

“By the time we reach the mountains,” he told the children, “it’ll be winter and no one will be able to cross, because of the snow. No one can cross the mountains in the winter. We’ll have to wait for spring, and then it’ll be almost summer by the time we get across. And then we’ll still have farther to go than the distance between the Griffs’ land and Obann City.”

The Griffs didn’t mind if they talked among themselves. Most of them couldn’t speak Obannese, so it didn’t matter if their guards overheard them.

“Such a long way! And we’ve only just started,” Jack said. “Maybe something will happen that’ll let us get away.”

“I’m thinking more about what will happen when we get there,” Ellayne said.

“Getting there will be hard enough,” said Martis. “The Thunder King has many Heathen nations under him, but I wonder how smoothly they mesh together. The Griffs are hereditary enemies of the Abnaks and the Attakotts, and they may have more enemies to the east of their country. I wonder whether Chillith has enough armed men to make this journey.”

“What do you mean, Martis?” Ellayne asked.

“I mean that we are a great prize, and the mardar who delivers us to Kara Karram will stand high in the favor of the Thunder King. Chillith plans to be that mardar: that’s why he sent no message back to the army at Obann, but just marched off with us without a word. The army these men came from, sooner or later, will miss them. But Chillith wants no other man to claim his prize.”

“I never would have thought of that,” Jack said.

“You would have, had you been in the service of the Temple for as long as I was.” Martis smiled at him. “Men are tricky and dishonest, Jack. How do you think Lord Reesh got to be First Prester? By outfoxing everyone else who wanted to be First Prester! And a few he outfoxed into early graves.”

Jack and Ellayne fell silent. This was a view of life that was new to them, and neither of them liked it.

They would have been amazed if they could have known that Wytt was following them. They would have thought it was impossible. No bigger than a groundhog, how could he keep up? The Griffs’ leaders were on horseback, but the men were used to walking everywhere and they took long strides. And even if Wytt could catch up, what could he possibly do?

Nevertheless, Wytt followed them. There was no chance at all of his losing the trail. His sense of smell was as keen as a fox’s; and as close to the ground as he was, he saw things that any human eye would miss.

He couldn’t match strides with men, but he could run all day. He ate up the ground, and was much less farther behind the Griffs than you would have thought. Besides, the Griffs weren’t going as fast as they could. They knew that no matter how hard they pushed themselves, winter would force them to stop before the mountains. As for pursuit, Chillith said there would be none: by the time anyone in high command noticed that he and his hundred men had disappeared, their trail would be too cold to follow.

So Wytt was able to keep up, but too cautious to overtake them yet. He knew that if he hurried, he could reach the Griffs’ camp on any night he pleased.

Why was he doing it? He couldn’t have told you: the little hairy men communicate, but they don’t talk like people talk. They think, but not in words as we think. They are God’s creatures, as we are, but He has given them no Scriptures. They are shaped like little men, but were created differently.

Wytt loved Ellayne and Jack. He would love them for as long as he lived, and never for a moment question it.

But there was even more to it than that. In him, as in every Omah, was an unspoken knowledge that someday a human female with hair like golden summer sunshine would cut it off and give it to the Omah; and when that happened, they would rejoice and dance, and they would always serve her. For ages beyond count they dwelled in the ruined cities of man; but when the girl should appear, everything would change. Every Omah knew that without being told.

Wytt was there when Jack and Ellayne took shelter in a ruin on their way out from Ninneburky. He was there when Jack cut off her hair to disguise her as a boy. Before that, they had given him bread; he was the first of his kind to receive a gift from a human being. He was also among those who snatched up a handful of the golden hair and danced with it.

It would never have entered his head not to follow the children. He knew that for the time being, he could do nothing. There were too many big, tall men around. He would have to stay close and wait for an opportunity.

So he ran and he ran after them, and the land was full of tasty worms and beetles and grasshoppers, with sweet dew on the grass for him to lap up every morning; and Wytt was untroubled and content.

Ryons knew he must be getting nearer to Obann at last, because now he was finding deserted farms, and once a whole village with not a single person in it. It must have been abandoned by people fearing the approach of the Heathen. Ryons wondered if they’d all fled to Obann.

One afternoon he saw something that made him stop and marvel. It was a big barn—or rather what was left of a big barn.

“Cavall, look at that!” he said. “What could have happened to it?”

There was still bright red paint on the timbers, so it couldn’t have just been an old abandoned building that had finally fallen down. One wall of it still stood. The other three lay flat on the ground. Ryons advanced for a closer look; and when he did, Cavall began to bark excitedly and run around the ruins. But there was nothing there for him to bark at—nothing at all that Ryons could see.

“What is it, boy?” he asked. “What are you so worked up about?” But of course the dog couldn’t tell him. Cavall could only bark and sniff the lumber and the ground, and prance all around like he had ants under his skin.

Some of the beams that used to hold the barn together were as thick as Ryons’ waist. Something had snapped and splintered them like dry twigs. Ryons could see the wood wasn’t rotten. And some of the stout, painted boards that used to be the walls were snapped and broken in the middle, as if they’d been crushed again after being knocked down.

No one had ever taught Ryons how to read tracks, or to understand the signs he saw imprinted on the ground. Helki, had he been there, could have read a tale that would have made him doubt his own senses. But all Ryons saw was shattered wood.

“You know what happened here, don’t you?” he said to Cavall. “Your nose is telling you all about it. Too bad you can’t tell me!”

Cavall was excited, but not scared. Ryons knew him well enough by now to tell the difference.

A little distance away, an empty farmhouse and a chicken coop stood intact. Ryons looked inside both, but found no eggs or chickens in the coop, no food left behind in the farmhouse: no living things but mice and spiders. He sat in the farmhouse doorway to have a drink of water and chew some nuts he’d found the day before. Cavall stopped prancing and sat down beside him, panting. Ryons gave him a sip of water.

“How long has it been since we’ve seen anybody?” he asked. “I’ve lost count of the days. I don’t know if it’s been weeks or months since we left the forest. I wonder how Mary’s doing. I wonder how my army is.”

He felt a catch in his throat and had to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye. He was lonely. He missed his army, his friends—the only friends he’d ever had. It was almost as bad as being a slave.

But then a hint of a breeze flew up from the south, and with it, faint and faraway, but still gigantic, the distant, horn-like call that had urged him north for so many days. Cavall pricked up his ears and made little noises in his throat. And then the call came again, a little louder, but whoever was calling remained well out of sight.

Ryons stood up. “I guess that means we ought to move on,” he said. “I just wish that for once I could see what it is! I mean, if it’s anything that can be seen.”

They resumed their trek northward, seeking Obann.

What with all the boats they had, and all the rafts they’d built, it still took Helki and the chieftains all day to ferry their army across the river.

Back and forth went the rafts and boats, each time transporting two or three hundred men to the north bank. It would have been impossible without the help of the local people. They knew the river and its obstacles, its tricks of current, and its moods.

Late in the afternoon Helki and Obst went over with the last of the troops, the militia from Caryllick. The rivermen sang as they poled and paddled and towed, making an occasion of it. One song in particular stood out:

Helki, Helki, Giant-killer!

You should have heard the giant laugh

When he saw Helki, Giant-killer,

Armed with just a wooden staff!

“I will eat you for my dinner!”

Said the giant, with a smirk;

But he was smitten down, that sinner,

When brave Helki went to work!

“I wish they’d stop singing that!” Helki said.

“Let them enjoy it,” said Obst. “It’s been a long time since Obann had a hero.”

Then spoke up the bold Uduqu,

“Come and get a big surprise!”

He swung the sword: not one, but two,

He slew before their Heathen eyes!

Obst laughed. “Well, that’s something!” he said. “Every Abnak warrior hopes that songs will be sung about him after he’s dead and gone. I’ll warrant Uduqu never dreamed that his song would be sung by watermen in West Obann.”

“He’s welcome to it,” Helki said. He was thinking of how Lintum Forest now would be preparing for the change of seasons—the leaves just beginning to turn color, the snakes retreating to their dens, bears eating everything they could lay their paws on—and he was missing it. It was then that he most enjoyed his solitary wanderings. But along with all that, he missed Jandra. How was his little Peeper doing? Did she still have that horrible bird with the teeth? “I reckon she’ll be all grown up by the time I see her again,” Helki thought—“if I see her again!”

The chieftains had assembled the army on the north bank of the river and set up camp. Suppers were already being cooked over campfires.

Shaffur met Helki when he landed. “Our scouts have been busy,” the Wallekki said. “The enemy has not yet come within many miles of this country. I don’t think they’ve scouted west of Obann at all. It’s very unlikely that they know we’re here.”

“That’s good,” Helki said. “Meanwhile, do I smell fish frying?”

Shaffur grinned. “The people hereabouts are very hospitable,” he said. “Who would have thought it? They’ve brought cartloads of fish, and are giving it—very nicely cooked!—to any man who asks for it. Come, I’ll introduce you to your supper.”

It was rare to find Shaffur in so good a mood. Helki followed him toward where the rivermen and their wives were frying fish over open fires. But before they got there, someone raised a commotion in the camp.

“Make way—make way, there!” someone shouted. “Where’s the general? Where’s Helki?”

Those were some of the river people, a little crowd of them advancing through the camp. Two or three Wallekki rode with them, looking like they knew not what to expect. Chief Zekelesh of the Fazzan was with them, on foot, excitedly chattering away in his own language. Without Obst to interpret for him, he might as well have saved his breath. Shaffur turned and sent a man to fetch Obst.

The river-folk, the riders, and Zekelesh made an escort for an old woman on a donkey, old and white-haired but sitting up as straight as a trooper in the cavalry. When she saw Helki coming to meet her, she raised a hand in greeting; and her escort quickly quieted down because it was obvious that she was going to speak.

“Greetings, Helki, and greetings to all who come in the name of the Lord!” Her high, cracked, old voice carried wonderfully. “Greetings to the army of the king, chosen by God of Ozias’ seed!”