have to crown the king? I seem to remember something about that. But we haven’t even decided yet who shall be First Prester.”
“That’s one of the refinements that we’ll have to make, my colleague!”
Aggo smiled, then broke into a dry, rattling chuckle like the rustle of dead leaves. Merffin joined him, and before he knew it, they were both laughing merrily out loud.
Prester Jod did not know that the boy he was protecting in Durmurot was not King Ryons. “Safer for him, if he doesn’t know,” Uduqu said to Gurun, when she asked him what he thought of revealing the secret to the prester. “Safer for King Ryons, too. You can see the prester doesn’t trust that bunch in Obann. Wherever Ryons really is, it’ll be better for him if they go on thinking it’s Fnaa who is the king.”
“But I do not feel right about deceiving Jod,” Gurun said. “He is a righteous man.”
“You’re young,” Uduqu said, “and Jod’s an honest man, honest as the day is long. Me, I’m an old varmint from the hills. And I’m telling you, those high and mighty merchants in the city, in all their fancy clothes, are wolves and hyenas. If they ever get wind of how Fnaa fooled them, they’ll have his head on a pole—and yours and mine and Prester Jod’s right alongside it. I know how such people think! We Abnaks live in huts instead of palaces, but we know how the world works. Let’s not be in too big a hurry to give away our secrets.”
More people lived in Durmurot than on all of Gurun’s islands put together, but she found this city less grim, less oppressive, than Obann. It was a much newer city, half the size and less than half the population of Obann—and with no hulking pile of ruins glowering at it from across the river.
Durmurot’s chamber house, where nowadays Jod read the Scriptures to the people in assembly, would have fit neatly inside the lesser assembly hall of the old Temple in Obann. To Gurun the house seemed colossal, but with its pale pink granite, marble trim, and its multitude of delicately carved hardwood screens, and the abundance of tall windows to let in natural sunlight, it never struck her as heavy or forbidding. She marveled particularly at the central dome—which, because of all the light let in around its base, seemed to float in the air above the hall.
She liked Durmurot. Its people were friendly, with none of the furtiveness she’d observed in the people of Obann. They loved their chief prester and respected the councilors who governed them. Durmurot’s oligarchs had died or vanished in the war, and the council operated now without an oligarch.
Gurun would have been happy there, if only the real King Ryons could be sheltered there, too. By now it was generally said he was in Lintum Forest—unless the boy in the forest was an imposter. Gurun hoped he was there. It was in Lintum Forest that his ancestor, King Ozias, was born and grew to manhood. Time and again in the forest, Ozias and his mother eluded their enemies. And at last he emerged from the forest with a band of mighty men, captured the great city, and ruled there for a time as Obann’s last anointed king, as recorded in the Scriptures.
But of course it wasn’t until he was established in the city that the traitors finally wrested his throne from him and drove him from the country. “That was what he should have expected,” Uduqu said, when Gurun told him the story.
Meanwhile, in spite of Durmurot’s friendliness and security and nearness to the great sea that she loved, it galled her to be waiting here—waiting and waiting for she knew not what.
“Why, All-Father,” she prayed, “have you brought me to this pleasant city, where there is nothing I can do for the king and no way I can help him?”
But to that prayer she received no answer.
CHAPTER 8
How Wytt Fought a Duel
Martis pushed himself hard. He had at least a full day’s worth of ground
“That’s one of the refinements that we’ll have to make, my colleague!”
Aggo smiled, then broke into a dry, rattling chuckle like the rustle of dead leaves. Merffin joined him, and before he knew it, they were both laughing merrily out loud.
Prester Jod did not know that the boy he was protecting in Durmurot was not King Ryons. “Safer for him, if he doesn’t know,” Uduqu said to Gurun, when she asked him what he thought of revealing the secret to the prester. “Safer for King Ryons, too. You can see the prester doesn’t trust that bunch in Obann. Wherever Ryons really is, it’ll be better for him if they go on thinking it’s Fnaa who is the king.”
“But I do not feel right about deceiving Jod,” Gurun said. “He is a righteous man.”
“You’re young,” Uduqu said, “and Jod’s an honest man, honest as the day is long. Me, I’m an old varmint from the hills. And I’m telling you, those high and mighty merchants in the city, in all their fancy clothes, are wolves and hyenas. If they ever get wind of how Fnaa fooled them, they’ll have his head on a pole—and yours and mine and Prester Jod’s right alongside it. I know how such people think! We Abnaks live in huts instead of palaces, but we know how the world works. Let’s not be in too big a hurry to give away our secrets.”
More people lived in Durmurot than on all of Gurun’s islands put together, but she found this city less grim, less oppressive, than Obann. It was a much newer city, half the size and less than half the population of Obann—and with no hulking pile of ruins glowering at it from across the river.
Durmurot’s chamber house, where nowadays Jod read the Scriptures to the people in assembly, would have fit neatly inside the lesser assembly hall of the old Temple in Obann. To Gurun the house seemed colossal, but with its pale pink granite, marble trim, and its multitude of delicately carved hardwood screens, and the abundance of tall windows to let in natural sunlight, it never struck her as heavy or forbidding. She marveled particularly at the central dome—which, because of all the light let in around its base, seemed to float in the air above the hall.
She liked Durmurot. Its people were friendly, with none of the furtiveness she’d observed in the people of Obann. They loved their chief prester and respected the councilors who governed them. Durmurot’s oligarchs had died or vanished in the war, and the council operated now without an oligarch.
Gurun would have been happy there, if only the real King Ryons could be sheltered there, too. By now it was generally said he was in Lintum Forest—unless the boy in the forest was an imposter. Gurun hoped he was there. It was in Lintum Forest that his ancestor, King Ozias, was born and grew to manhood. Time and again in the forest, Ozias and his mother eluded their enemies. And at last he emerged from the forest with a band of mighty men, captured the great city, and ruled there for a time as Obann’s last anointed king, as recorded in the Scriptures.
But of course it wasn’t until he was established in the city that the traitors finally wrested his throne from him and drove him from the country. “That was what he should have expected,” Uduqu said, when Gurun told him the story.
Meanwhile, in spite of Durmurot’s friendliness and security and nearness to the great sea that she loved, it galled her to be waiting here—waiting and waiting for she knew not what.
“Why, All-Father,” she prayed, “have you brought me to this pleasant city, where there is nothing I can do for the king and no way I can help him?”
But to that prayer she received no answer.
CHAPTER 8
How Wytt Fought a Duel
Martis pushed himself hard. He had at least a full day’s worth of ground
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