The Fugitive Prince (Bell Mountain) (32 page)

The target of Mardar Wusu’s malice, Helki the Rod, was still busy hunting down assassins in the eastern regions of the forest. There were more of them than he’d thought; and there were still homegrown bands of lawless men that he hadn’t subdued. These, in a spirit of self-preservation, were joining together to resist him. So Helki and his handful of rangers remained in the field; but most of the time he preferred to hunt alone. His Griffs still had much to learn about woodcraft.

He didn’t know King Ryons was at Carbonek, or he would have hurried back to see him. As always, most of his rangers were patrolling all around the settlement to protect it from surprise attack. He had nowhere near enough men to make all of Lintum Forest safe for peaceful settlers. But he hoped the dread inspired by his name, and by his deeds, would serve in lieu of men.

This morning he surprised five outlaws sitting around their campfire with a joint of venison. His rod laid two of them on the ground, and the other three surrendered. He’d approached their camp so stealthily that not even the blue jays gave a warning.

“I don’t know why you attack us, Helki,” said one of the survivors. “We never did you any harm.”

“No, but you burnt out a farm last week and sold the wife and children into slavery,” Helki answered. “You’re part of Nummick Fishbelly’s band, and I’m at war with him. Where is Nummick, by the way?”

“We don’t know! Unless there’s a job to be done, we split up and go our own ways. It’s safer, Nummick says. He knows you’re after him.”

“And I’m going to get him, too,” Helki said. “Meanwhile, tell the truth and I’ll let you keep your heads on your shoulders. Has Nummick had any talks with anyone from Silvertown?”

“Why, of course he has! And more than once, too. The woods are full of men from Silvertown, trying to get all the free men together to take you down. You knew that, didn’t you?”

Helki nodded. Nummick had some three dozen followers. Naturally, Silvertown would want to make use of him. If all the bandit chiefs in the eastern forest joined forces, they could send two or three hundred men against Carbonek, plus whatever assistance Silvertown might give them. “And if they can wipe out Carbonek while it’s under my protection,” Helki thought, “everyone in the whole cuss’t forest will be after my scalp, and no honest man or woman will listen to me ever again.” He didn’t even want to think about what would happen to the settlers at Carbonek if the likes of Nummick Fishbelly conquered them. Helki shook his head, not knowing what to do.

“My problem now,” he said, “is what to do with you three birds so that I won’t have to fight you again. If I let you go, you’ll just go back to Nummick.”

“You promised not to kill us!” cried one of the three.

“Would Nummick keep that promise?” Helki said. Of course he wouldn’t, and none of the outlaws dared to answer that. “I reckon you’d better come with me for now. If you show yourselves trustworthy, I might let you join up with my bunch, by and by. Otherwise, your futures don’t look bright.”

“We’d be happy to join up with you,” said the wisest of the three.

Up in the foothills, Sunfish came to a decision.

He really had no choice. The dreams tormented him every night, and every now and then a fragment of one would darken his day—only for a fleeting moment, but he didn’t like it.

“I’ve got to go to Obann, Hlah,” he said.

“To ask a prophet about your dreams?” Hlah said. “You may be able to find one nearer than Obann.”

“No—it’s got to be Obann,” Sunfish said. “Oh, I wish I knew how to tell you! Sometimes I feel like there’s another person inside me—someone who wants to get rid of me, so that he can be! And it all has to do with Obann. I don’t know how, but it does.”

It wasn’t a bad time of year to journey to Obann, Hlah thought. The settlement could get along without them. May loved the thought of going to see towns and cities, and Hlah welcomed the opportunity to stop at Ninneburky and confer with Baron Roshay Bault. Besides, he was very curious indeed to see what a prophet would say about Sunfish’s dreams and visions. There might be much more to them than anyone suspected.

“I’ll take you to Obann, old friend,” Hlah said. “But I hope you’ll want to come back to this place, afterward.”

And Sunfish answered, “More than anything else in all the world!”

Chapter 38

How Fnaa Spent the King’s Money

Obst called the chieftains together to hear Jandra’s prophecy: “I shall set Ozias’ throne in Lintum Forest.”

“What does that mean?” Shaffur grumbled. “What good is the throne without the king to sit on it? We should have brought the little girl with us.”

“She couldn’t explain it to you, Chieftain,” Obst said.

“Well, I wish somebody would!”

The army hadn’t marched as fast or as hard as it could have, and had yet to reach Cardigal, where the Chariot River flows into the Imperial. Along the river, trade flourished, farmers raised and sold their crops, and the militia kept away the broken bands of stragglers left over from the Thunder King’s vast host. People rebuilt their burnt-out villages. Not a few of them fell into a fright at the army’s approach; but when heralds assured them it was King Ryons’ army, they praised the king whom they had never seen and sold provisions. The chieftains were surprised by how famous they’d become; and if some of the heroic deeds ascribed to them were fictional, they didn’t mind. As Chagadai reminded them, fame was one of the things they’d crossed the mountains to win.

“I think I understand the prophecy,” he said. “I think God means for the king to rule the country from Lintum Forest and not from that wicked city anymore. I wonder if King Ryons has gone back to the forest ahead of us. Surely we should seek him there.”

“If he’s there, we’ll find him,” Chief Buzzard said. And so they all agreed to march to Lintum Forest, and the warriors applauded the decision. They longed to be reunited with their king, and didn’t much care if they never returned to Obann.

But Obst cared. What would happen to the work of copying and sending out the Scriptures, if the king were not to rule from Obann?

“Do you suppose God hasn’t thought of that?” said Zekelesh, when Obst had voiced his misgivings. “He knows what to do, and how to do it.”

Obst grinned at the swarthy little chief with his wolf’s-head helmet. “You’ve become wise, Chieftain!” he said. “I surrender to your counsel.”

“It’s only common sense,” said Zekelesh.

In Obann the new oligarchs—they liked to call themselves “the king’s servants and advisers”—were already collecting taxes, having first increased them, hiring men to police the streets and discourage criticism, posting edicts and proclamations everywhere, and giving speeches about the war with the Thunder King being over. Those who didn’t think so found themselves drafted onto work crews, repairing the city’s walls and gates, clearing away the rubble of the Temple—labor for which they received little or no pay. At Merffin Mord’s insistence, he and his colleagues did everything in the king’s name.

Fnaa learned to ride Dandelion, showing more of a flair for it than Ryons ever did; but no one noticed. For nowadays he liked to ride in the streets of the city every day with bags of coins tied to his saddle; and he exasperated his councilors by coming back each day with empty bags, having flung all the money to the people. Boisterous cheering followed him everywhere he went. Uduqu always marched beside him to keep him from being mobbed.

“Why, why, Your Majesty, do you do this thing?” Merffin cried.

“Because the people like it,” said Fnaa, “and I like to watch them scramble for the money. I’m the king, and I’ll do as I please!”

“I think they hate you, boy,” Uduqu said, when they were alone with Gurun after supper, ostensibly to put the king to bed. Uduqu now slept in a chair outside the door to the king’s bedchamber.

“Oh, I know they do!” Fnaa said. “But now the people love me.”

“On Fogo Island, where I come from, we have no kings, nor councilors, nor cities,” Gurun said. “I know but little of such things. But I think we are placing ourselves in greater and greater danger.”

None of the three knew that Gallgoid had already placed an agent in the royal kitchen, a brave woman who made sure to taste everything that was meant for the king’s table. In Lord Reesh’s service Gallgoid had arranged for the poisoning of several individuals. Lord Reesh considered him an expert. “Martis for the knife between the ribs on a dark night,” he used to say, “but always you, Gallgoid, for a fatal dish that never tastes of poison.” Gallgoid’s agent had vials containing some of the most common antidotes sewn into her dress. He expected she would need them.

Gallgoid also knew about the message that the oligarchs had received from the Thunder King’s First Prester. They were keeping it a secret. But one member of their council, a great trader in wheat and corn, kept Gallgoid well-informed of all the council’s doings and discussions. He did this, he said, for love of Obann and in obedience to God. None but Gallgoid himself knew what this man did.

Gallgoid relished the irony of a man like himself being the instrument used by God to protect God’s chosen king. He would have relished it even more, had he known that the boy he was protecting was not King Ryons.

“It makes them furious when you throw money to the people,” Gurun said. “Your mother is afraid.”

“I’m sorry for that,” said Fnaa, “but I have to do whatever’s in my heart to do. That’s what the prophet said.”

“It’s a good thing they don’t know that Dakl is your mother,” Uduqu said. “Don’t ever let them find that out!” He didn’t want to say more. Abnaks had a reputation for cruelty. “But I suppose some of these city men could give us lessons,” he thought.

“If only we knew where King Ryons is!” Gurun said. “Then we could all go to him—although I don’t like the thought of leaving Preceptor Constan alone with all these scheming men. The Scriptures must go out among the people.”

Uduqu sighed. “A young maid from a country no one’s heard of, a silly boy whose gift is to play the fool, and an old scalp-lifter with more scars than brains—the three guardians of God’s word! The Lord don’t like to do anything the easy way, does He? And He made quite a few Abnaks like that.”