The Thunder King (Bell Mountain) Read Online Free PDF Page B

“Lately I’ve been feeling my age, Orth. My supper doesn’t agree with me, and I have an aching in my bones. But I didn’t summon you here to be my doctor.
    “Hear me, Orth. I’ve chosen you to be the next First Prester. Don’t try to look surprised. I know you aren’t.”
    Orth permitted himself a satisfied half-smile. He was a handsome man, powerfully built, in the prime of middle age, with a black spade beard that showed no hint of grey. He ought to last a long time as First Prester, Reesh thought. But he hadn’t chosen Orth for good looks or his potential for longevity. Orth was a man who, like Reesh himself, understood that the Temple came first—always.
    “In the days to come,” said Reesh, “I will give you documents to read that are the exclusive property of the Temple, to be seen by no one but the First Prester. The exigencies of war, and my own uncertain health, require that you be permitted to see them sooner than would otherwise be allowed. If I should die suddenly, during a military crisis, you would have no time to study them.”
    Orth nodded. He understood there was no need for him to speak.
    “It has always been necessary,” Reesh said, “for the Temple to have intelligence of events in distant countries; and so I have many servants sojourning among the Heathen in the East. As regularly as possible, they send me reports.
    “Some of these reports, owing to the turbulence of the present time, have been delayed and were late in reaching me. I suspect some never reached me at all. But I have them now, and I have studied them; and what I’ve read suggests to me that our city may not stand, after all. There is a chance that the city of Obann might fall.”
    Both men kept silence, Reesh waiting for Orth to speak, Orth pondering what he ought to say. It was warm in Reesh’s bedchamber, the darkness relieved only by the light of a few candles, and quiet. It might have been the only private room in all the world. The window was closed and shuttered, with heavy velvet drapes drawn over it. Orth sweated; but Reesh was one of those old men who found it hard to keep warm, even when no one else was cold.
    “Supposing the Temple were to survive the fall of the city,” Orth said slowly, “what will the people think of all our preaching about victory? If the people don’t believe our preaching anymore, the Temple will be worth nothing.”
    It was Orth who, at Lord Reesh’s behest, composed some verses of counterfeit Scripture and arranged for it to be discovered by a scholar in the archives. The scholar was now dead, and the pseudo-scripture had been preached in every chamber house in the land. Pretending to be the words of God, Orth’s verses exhorted the people to conquer the Heathen nations once and for all, promising a glorious victory. Reesh and Orth were the only men who knew of the imposture. Those presters who suspected the verses were not genuine had either resigned from the Temple or else held their peace.
    “What makes you think the city might fall, First Prester?” Orth asked. “What have you learned that you didn’t know before?”
    Reesh waved a flabby hand as if it wearied him to speak of such things. But he answered.
    “The numbers alone bode ill for us. There are nations risen up in arms that have never crossed the mountains before. It’s every clan of the Wallekki, every tribe of Abnaks, the Fazzan, the Zephites, and peoples from the East whom you’ve never heard of before, all the way out to the Great Lakes and beyond. Their strength is inexhaustible.
    “We’ve had barbarian invasions before: many of them. What makes this one different is that one will, one mind, directs them. The Thunder King, the Great Man—he commands them, one and all. And they obey.”
    “Why do they obey?” Orth asked.
    “Because they fear him. They believe he has the powers of a god.” Reesh shook his head. “These are people who worship rocks and rivers, who carve idols out of wood and bow down