The Fugitive Prince (Bell Mountain) (19 page)

“Trust God,” said Zekelesh. “He will know when to bring us home again.”

“Yes,” said the converted pagans, who had not had the benefit of a formal education in a chamber house, “we trust in Him.”

In his office in the palace, Gallgoid was finishing a confidential letter to Gurun. He’d questioned all the servants from Vallach Vair’s house, and arrested and questioned a number of persons mentioned by those servants.

He preferred Gurun to the council of the chieftains: not because some of them viewed him as a traitor and would never trust him, but because Gurun was young and intelligent and courageous. The chiefs had courage and were wise, but Gallgoid’s instincts turned to Gurun. It was the same inner voice that had commanded him to escape from the Golden Palace of the Thunder King, just before the whole place was buried in the avalanche. Amore devout man would have said it was the prompting of God’s spirit, but Gallgoid was afraid to venture an opinion on that.

“Gallgoid to Gurun,” he wrote:

“It would be easier to name those who are loyal to the king in this city, than those who are not. One plot against him I’ve squelched; but there are, and will be, others—how many, I have not yet been able to find out.

“Every former oligarch in the country is against the king, and they all have agents in this city. They seduce the people with promises to rebuild the Temple. The younger clergy, who looked to the Temple for promotion, are with them. The elders, who listen to Prester Jod of Durmurot and to Preceptor Constan at the great seminary in this city, are for us. But the young men are more energetic.

“There is much murmuring against the king’s army, which he brought into the city with him. Hennen has the Obannese troops well in hand; but in other cities, the soldiers are being seduced by the oligarchs. If for any reason more troops must be brought into the city, it is likely they will turn violently against King Ryons’ men.

“But the greatest danger is this—that the former leaders of Obann will make an alliance with the new Thunder King. His emissaries are at work along the river, throughout the countryside. To the oligarchs they offer restoration of their seats of power, under the Thunder King. To the discontented clergy they offer a New Temple in the East. I have heard of a new First Prester, appointed by the Thunder King, in Silvertown.”

Gallgoid paused, thinking there ought to be more to his letter. He hadn’t said anything about what ought to be done. That was because he didn’t know. Besides, he didn’t give advice; he provided information. At last he decided to let the letter stand as written, and reread the closing paragraph before signing it:

“As far as I can determine, the people honor King Ryons for his rescue of the city, but few truly believe him to be the descendant of King Ozias. They mistrust the chieftains and their warriors, although Chief Uduqu is a hero in their eyes. They believe Obst is mad, but they also accept him as a prophet. Finally, Lady Gurun, they revere you personally, as having been sent to them by God. You are King Ryons’ greatest asset in this city. Your servant, Gallgoid.”

He sealed the letter shut and summoned a trusted man to deliver it to Gurun.

Children and servants hear things they are not supposed to hear. So it was with Fnaa and his mother.

Servants gossiped back and forth, in the kitchens, in the halls, mostly whispering but sometimes getting excited and forgetting that they might be overheard. Dakl heard her share of it. Things like this:

“Lord So-and-so gave his wife a golden necklace and said to her, ‘By this time next year, my lass, you’ll be wearing this to the Oligarchs’ Ball.”

“My nephew will be a captain soon, and his captain a commander, and his commander a lord; and then we’ll have our own house in the city.”

“My sister wants me to come and live with her at Prester Ronwy’s house and be a servant there. She says it won’t be safe in the palace.”

Dakl knew better than to give the name of any servant who said such things, but she did let Gurun know what kinds of things were being said. Gurun didn’t ask who said them. “Gallgoid probably knows already,” she said.

As king, Fnaa wasn’t privy to servants’ gossip. What he heard was of a different order altogether.

One or more of the Ghols watched over him discreetly wherever he went, whatever he did. By now Chagadai had been told his secret. Fnaa was surprised by how gently the old Ghol treated him.

“It’s nothing,” said Chagadai, in his labored Obannese. “I have been blessed in that God has let me hold my children’s children in my lap. The oldest of them would be about your age now. Besides, we both serve King Ryons. I pray we’ll see him again!”

So Fnaa went about his business as King Ryons would have, sitting for his lessons in this or that, practicing his horsemanship and archery, attending sessions of his chiefs, and letting his people in the city see him every few days. And there was one more thing that Ryons did, that Fnaa now had to do.

There was a little girl named Jandra, from Lintum Forest, who lived in the palace and had a great reputation as a prophet. The chiefs all venerated her. She was fond of Ryons, and it was his custom to spend time with her. He would take her to the stables so she could pet the horses and play with the cats, or watch over her as she fed the chickens.

This wasn’t easy for Fnaa. Jandra had a bird—maybe you could call it a snake with wings and legs and feathers—that never left her side. Jandra was a nice little girl who prattled and skipped and sang silly little songs; but the wretched bird was always there, glaring at you with red eyes and rattling its dirty purple feathers, and hissing if you got too close. Fnaa was sure the cusset creature knew he was a fake and only waited for a good excuse to bite him.

Everyone swore that Jandra was a prophet, but Fnaa had never seen any sign of it. She liked to hold his hand and swing it back and forth as she sang, “Helki kilt the giant,” or some such rigmarole. She was just an ordinary little girl; but Chagadai said her prophecies had made Ryons a king and guided the destiny of the army—and this when she was just a toddler. The whole business seemed to Fnaa just about the oddest aspect of an altogether very odd situation.

And then, of course, one day she did speak prophecy again.

They were among the chickens, with Jandra scattering corn and a Ghol leaning against a chicken coop, half-asleep, and the snake-bird perched on a crate, intently watching everything that moved. And Jandra stopped feeding the chickens, her arms went slack, and the corn dribbled from her hand; and she looked up at Fnaa in a way that made his skin prickle from the scalp down.

When she spoke, it was in a deep voice that was not a little girl’s voice—not possible for so young a child to speak with such a voice. And she said:

“Hear the word of the Lord, Fnaa, son of Dakl.

“You have not known me, but I have known you from the time I shaped you in your mother’s womb and breathed the spirit of life into you. And now you shall know me.

“For I am pleased with you, my child; and I have chosen you to provoke folly in the heart of those men who will not hear my voice. Fear not, for there is nothing they can do to you; for I shall protect you, and you shall be a snare to them. Only be courageous: and what comes into your mind to do, so do; for I am with you.”

Fnaa’s knees shook, but he was not aware of it. At the moment he was more afraid than he had ever been in all his life: as if Jandra were a slavering bear that stood before him to break his bones and eat him. And yet it was a fear, too, that blew through his heart like a fierce cold wind: and whatever that wind left standing was strong and good, and glorious. His senses reeled.

But then Jandra’s blue eyes rolled up and her lids came down, and she crumpled to the earth, scattering the chickens. Fnaa thought she’d fainted, but she was sleeping peacefully. There were many in the king’s army who’d seen this, several times before, and could have told him that she always fell asleep after she spoke God’s words, and remembered nothing about it when she woke. The woman named Abgayl, who took care of her, swore the child didn’t know she was a prophet. But here was only the Ghol, who woke with a start and came rushing over, clucking at Fnaa in his barbaric language, not a word of which the boy could understand. He scooped up Jandra in his arms. Her monstrous bird hopped down from the crate and hissed at him, showing its sharp teeth, but he ignored it.

“What happened? What happened?” Fnaa cried. The Ghol tried to tell him, but they couldn’t communicate. So he barked some orders at a groom who came out of the stables, who had enough sense to go looking for someone who would understand. In a few minutes—she must have been nearby—Abgayl came and took the sleeping Jandra from the Ghol. By then Fnaa had succeeded in calming himself—at least in looking calm. Inside, he was still quaking.

Abgayl smiled at him. “It’s been a while since the Lord God spoke to you, hasn’t it?” she said. Fnaa had never spoken with Abgayl before, but fortunately Gurun had told him all about her. “What did the Lord say?”

What a question! Vallach Vair and his family used to go to assembly at the Temple, but Fnaa had never heard much talk about God until he came to the palace. It could not be said that Fnaa believed in God. But he knew that it couldn’t have been Jandra who’d said those things to him; nor did he know what those things meant. So he could only shrug.

“Your Majesty, what’s the matter with you? You can’t shrug off God’s word!” Abgayl said. “What did He say?”

“That He was with me.” Somehow Fnaa kept the quaver out of his voice: he was supposed to have had this experience before. “That I ought to do whatever’s in my heart to do.”

“And what is in your heart?”

“Just now? I don’t know! I mean, we were just feeding the chickens.”

“You should ask Obst about this,” Abgayl said. “He can guide you. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll put Jandra to bed.”

She walked off, and the Ghol came up and laid a kindly hand on his shoulder, which made him flinch. But the warrior only grinned at him. “Good thing she speak—yes, father?” he said in broken Obannese.

Fnaa just nodded, and went to sit down on a bale of hay before his legs gave out on him.

Chapter 23

Back to Lintum Forest

Martis allowed himself to take a little pleasure in the swiftness of his Wallekki horse, Dulayl, in a flat-out gallop on the plain. But after a few minutes he reined in: it wouldn’t do to let Dulayl get winded, only to stumble into some emergency that would demand another burst of speed. At his best (and his best was very good) Dulayl could just outrun the giant birds. Martis hadn’t seen any of them yet, but he was wary.

So far he’d picked up no trace of Jack and Ellayne, although he had good tracking skills. In the vastness of this empty land, the children might be anywhere. It would be easy to miss them. The best he could do was to zig-zag in the direction of Lintum Forest and question the few people he met along the way.

He encountered a band of Wallekki marauders, but he knew the words of friendship that would keep him safe from them. Besides, their chief concern was finding food.

“There were twelve of us,” they told him, “but seven of us starved in that accursed winter.” There were only five left.

“Why do you stay?” Martis asked. “Why haven’t you gone back East?”

“Better a robber, than a slave of the Thunder King,” said their leader.

“You could submit to King Ryons and receive a pardon.”