The Fugitive Prince (Bell Mountain) (36 page)

“I surely do hope so,” Helki said. It’s a cuss’t fool plan, he thought, and everybody knows it. But what else can we do?

In the city of Obann, where Helki thought Ryons would have been safe, presters and reciters and their servants were gathering from every corner of the country. They came to Obann for the conclave, to select a new First Prester and discuss the rebuilding of the Temple. There were even a few of the old oligarchs in town, looking to get their seats back.

Gurun went to bed, uneasy in her mind because things seemed to be happening so fast. She was homesick for her simple life on Fogo Island. Had a storm not blown her down to Obann, she mused, “by now I’d be married a year to Lokk,” her father’s friend. Lokk was almost as old as her father, but what of it? If she’d hated the marriage, she had the right to declare it ended and go back home.

“Home!” she sighed. What she wouldn’t give for one glimpse of ice-islands floating in the cold, blue waters of Fogo Sound!

Her maid was dismissed, her chamber door was locked; and she was just about to climb into bed and blow out her lamp when the door of her wardrobe creaked open and a man stepped out.

Her blood froze. This was the end; this was an assassin sent by Merffin Mord—

But it was Gallgoid, and he held a finger to his lips for silence.

“How did you get in here?” she whispered.

“I have a key. I have all the keys,” he said. “Sit down. I have things to tell you.”

Gurun sat on the bed. She had no fear of Gallgoid. He remained standing. He carried no weapon that she could see.

“The king’s councilors are exchanging letters with the enemy’s supposed First Prester in Silvertown,” he said. “That man is a traitor named Goryk Gillow. Merffin and the others have decided to join him in his treason.”

They were going to make peace with the Thunder King, he said. The Thunder King had a New Temple that would be Obann’s Temple, too. “They’ve convinced themselves it’s for the good of Obann. And they think they’re all going to get rich.”

“How do you know this?”

“Better I don’t tell you. But I know. And there’s more,” Gallgoid said. “During the conclave, amid all the excitement, certain persons are to disappear. The Abnak chief, Uduqu, is to be discreetly murdered. They’ll say he went off to join the army. Your prophet—the little girl, Jandra—and her nurse are also to be disposed of.”

“They would murder a child?” With a great effort, Gurun didn’t raise her voice.

“It might be awkward for them if the prophet were to reappear,” Gallgoid said. “They don’t want any prophets in Obann.”

Gurun shook her head. Knowing the Scriptures as she did, she knew there was no end to human wickedness. But to encounter so much of it in real life was a shock.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” she said.

He nodded. “You, too, my lady, are to disappear. They’ll say you returned to your own country, over the sea. But they mean to murder you.”

Somehow that was less appalling than the idea of murdering a child. “Anyone else?” said Gurun.

“Preceptor Constan. And a few more, but no one you know.”

“What about the king?”

“He’ll be allowed to live a little longer,” Gallgoid said. “The Thunder King wants him. For the time being, they’ll keep him here in Obann. The poor boy is a simpleton, and they think they can make good use of him. But once their position is secure, they’ll send him East.

“Meanwhile, they’re not sure how to manage the conclave. They would prefer to have the First Prester that the Thunder King has provided, this Goryk Gillow. The conclave would prefer to elect a new one. So far, Merffin has not decided what to do.”

Several moments passed before Gurun spoke again.

“What shall we do?” she said.

“I think the wisest course would be to get you all out of the city before the conclave opens. Send you to Lintum Forest and place you under Helki’s protection.”

“Can you do it?

“Yes. It won’t be easy, but I can.”

Gurun thought hard. “Then there is something I must tell you now—something you don’t know,” she said. She took a deep breath. “The king who is here in the palace, the simpleton, is not a fool. He is only pretending. But he is not King Ryons, either. That, too, is a pretense. He is here because the real King Ryons went away, and we don’t know where.”

The spy grinned as he listened to the tale of the lost king and his substitute. When Gurun finished telling it, he bowed.

“I salute you, lady!” he said. “I suspected you were keeping a secret from me, but I never dreamed it was such a thing as this. You’ve outdone me in deception—very well done indeed!”

“I want you to save Fnaa, too,” she said.

“I will. But thinking he was truly King Ryons, my plans called for him to stay here longer than the rest of you.”

“He must not!” said Gurun. “With Uduqu and Jandra and me all gone to Lintum Forest, who would protect him?”

“I will,” Gallgoid said. “With my life.”

“And Preceptor Constan?”

Gallgoid shrugged. “He would never consent to leave Obann. He wouldn’t miss the conclave, and there’s no prying him loose from his work. I’ll do whatever I can, but I think God will have to protect him.”

“And what if something happens to you?” Gurun asked.

“Oh, I’m safe,” Gallgoid said. “I’m only a minor clerk in the palace, whose work is so obscure as to be beneath anyone’s notice.”

Among the first to arrive in the city for the conclave, and among the most important, was Prester Jod from Durmurot, Obann’s westernmost city. Lord Reesh had once accepted Jod’s resignation, but after the destruction of the Temple and the disappearance of Lord Reesh, the western clergy had restored Jod to his post. It wasn’t strictly by the rules, but they wouldn’t hear of choosing anyone else.

“You’ll be elected First Prester,” Constan told him, “if you allow someone to nominate you.”

Jod had come to the seminary that day to see the work being done on the scrolls. He walked with the preceptor from desk to desk as the copyists labored on what would someday become new books of Scripture for all the people of Obann.

“I won’t deny I’ve been thinking about a nomination,” Jod said. He was a big, handsome man, well-known for his integrity. He would be an ideal First Prester. “I’ve been praying about it, too.”

“With you as First Prester, our work here will be secure from meddling,” Constan said.

“That’s one of the few reasons I would have for wanting to be First Prester—to make sure God’s word goes out to all the people: even to the Heathen.”

Constan nodded. He and Jod agreed.

“The trouble, of course, is that many will want a return to the old ways. They will insist on it.”

“The old ways are over and done with,” Jod said. “They were not God’s ways. I’ll try to make the conclave see that.”

Constan had heard rumors of the Thunder King’s New Temple in the East. So had Jod, but decided not to speak of it: not until he had a better sense of what the conclave thought of it. The whole idea was monstrous, he thought; but he had already found a few presters who seemed receptive to it. But many of them wanted there to be two Temples: one in Obann, the other in the East, and both Temples under their control.

“Tread carefully,” Jod reminded himself, “when you tread among fools.”

Chapter 44

How to Pack a Chamber House

Although the river was carrying them along at a good clip, Hlah paddled the canoe steadily. May sat in the prow with the baby in her arms, facing her husband. Between them, with an arm flailing over the side, lay Sunfish. Every few minutes, he groaned. Occasionally he sputtered broken bits of Scripture.

“Is he going to die on us?” May said. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Who knows?” Hlah frowned and kept on paddling. “He was almost this bad when I first found him lost in the marshes, starving and babbling and shivering. He came out of it, by and by. Maybe he’ll come out of this.”

“He needs a doctor. Maybe we shouldn’t press on all the way to Obann.”

“My people would say he was in a shamanistic trance, communing with some god. But when a shaman comes out of his trance, he remembers everything. Anyhow, he needs a prophet, not a doctor. Besides, the best doctors must be in Obann City.”

Suddenly Sunfish gave a great cry and sat up, rocking the canoe. He opened his eyes wide and looked around, confused.

“Easy, Sunfish! You almost tipped the canoe!”

“I’m sorry, Hlah.”

“How do you feel?” May asked.

“Tired,” Sunfish said. “Oh, so very tired!”

“You looked like you were having a bad dream.”

“That’s just what it feels like,” he said. “Only when I wake up, I can’t remember anything about the dream. Just crowds and faces and lots of people talking all at once. I wish it would stop.”

For no reason at all, the baby giggled. That brought a weary smile to Sunfish’s face.

“Another two or three days on the river,” Hlah said, “and we’ll be in Obann. We’ll be in time for that conclave.”

“Conclave,” muttered Sunfish; and by the look on his face, you’d think he’d been invited to the conclave, and dreaded it. You’d think he knew all about it.

But that was impossible, Hlah thought.

As the king’s army approached Lintum Forest from the north, Looth, the Attakott, was troubled.

“We’ve been right up to the edge of the forest,” he told the other chieftains, “and we haven’t met any of Helki’s scouts. He should have men on the plain, watching the approaches to the forest. That’s what we used to do, when we were with him. But he has no one there.”

“My riders haven’t seen any of his people, either,” Shaffur said.

“Nor mine,” said Chagadai.

The chiefs decided to march the army faster. Helki was too good a general, they knew, to neglect to post scouts outside the forest.

“He’s come to a bad end, finally,” Shaffur said. “I always thought he would.”

“He may be having trouble,” Chief Buzzard said, “with no men left to spare for scouting duties. But we’ll know better when we get there.”

So they picked up their pace, and Obst prayed hard for Helki’s safety. He’d known Helki for a long time. There was always someone trying to kill Helki: “And they haven’t done it yet,” Obst thought. But now Helki had people depending on him, and he couldn’t just vanish into the trees as he used to. He would have to defend those people, somehow.