The Fugitive Prince (Bell Mountain) Read Online Free PDF Page B

river. “I thought it’d be a lot harder than that,” he said to Cavall. Had he known more about rivers and boats, he would have considered the feat miraculous.
     
    When he bumped the prow onto the opposite shore at a place where it sloped gently to the water, Ryons and Cavall got out and the boy dragged the boat onto the land. He shouldered the pack and the waterskin, and tucked the rolled-up blanket under the strap of the pack. His education had advanced, so he knew by now the general location of Lintum Forest relative to Obann City, and how to find his way there. Behind him like cliffs loomed the ruins of Old Obann on the south bank, destroyed by God in His wrath.
     
    “I wonder what we’re supposed to do in Lintum Forest,” Ryons said. God had already put him through so many strange adventures, it hardly occurred to him to question the need for yet another. Had the Lord not found him, the lowliest of slaves, and made him king? “I guess we’ll find out when we get there.”
     
    Cavall grinned and wagged his tail.
     
    With no more than another hour or two to sunrise, King Ryons began his trek to Lintum Forest.
     

 
    Chapter 7

    How Gurun Received a Throne
     
    Everyone in Obann was busy. There would have been more than enough work for everyone just in clearing away the ruins of the Temple; after a year’s labor, plenty remained of that task. But there were also the city’s defenses to reorganize, Heathen brigands to be suppressed throughout the land, militia raised and trained, and farms to be restored.
     
    On top of all that, an army of scholars and students toiled to render the Old Books into modern script and language so that all the people of Obann could be instructed in the Scriptures. And there were King Ozias’ scrolls to translate and copy out—the ones found by Jack and Ellayne in the ruins of Ozias’ Temple in the Old City. Were these truly long-lost books of Scripture? Scholars argued endlessly about it.
     
    Everyone had quite enough to do without having to deal with the sudden disappearance of their king.
     
    All morning long the Ghols ran up and down the palace, searching for him everywhere. They all knew Kutchuk would never have slept through the opening or closing of the king’s door—and yet the king was not found in his bed that morning. There were fifty Ghols and they searched everywhere, growing more and more frantic by the hour.
     
    “What shall we do?” said Chagadai, their chief. It was now past noon, and no one had found any sign of the king.
     
    “It’s my fault,” Kutchuk said. “I should be put to death.”
     
    “So should we all, if we cannot find our father!” said another warrior.
     
    “Don’t talk like a fool, Kutchuk. What are we going to do? It’ll take more than the fifty of us to search the city,” Chagadai said. “Go, summon all the chieftains.”
     
    The Heathen chiefs who first proclaimed Ryons as their king were still in Obann to advise him and protect him. They were Heathen no more, but the people of Obann naturally looked on them as foreigners.
     
    “And fetch the queen, too!” Chagadai shouted after Kutchuk.
     

     
    Gurun came from a tiny island in the distant North, blown in her little skiff to Obann’s shores by a ferocious storm that should have drowned her. But her people knew the Scriptures; God had given her the gift of understanding diverse languages; and for some reason the citizens of Obann had taken to her. She was tall and fair and only seventeen years old. The Ghols in particular liked her.
     
    She followed Kutchuk to the conference chamber where the chiefs were waiting.
     
    “What is it, Kutchuk?” she said. “You Ghols have been acting like wild men all morning.”
     
    “It’s very bad, honeysuckle.” That was the Ghols’ nickname for her. “King Ryons is gone. We can’t find him anywhere, and no one knows where he went.” No one in the palace but Gurun and old Obst understood the Ghols’ language, so