Free The Thunder King (Bell Mountain) by Lee Duigon

into the street and exhort everyone she met to flee the city if they wanted to live. They were hanging prophets, these days—Gwyll thought she didn’t understand that, but of course she did: she wasn’t senile—but God would not let them hang her. God let her know He was unhappy with Gwyll for not heeding Him, but He wouldn’t let any of Gwyll’s household come to harm. They wouldn’t hang her. But even if they did, she would still obey the call.
    It was a hot summer day, no need for a shawl. Nanny stepped out into the bright sunlight. There were already people on the streets, hurrying to and fro. Nanny fell asleep on her feet and spoke God’s words without being aware of it.
    “Hear the Lord, you people of Obann! Hear the Lord, and live!
    “Why will you die, when if you obey Me, you shall live? I have marked this city for destruction, and this Temple for a desolation, and the wealth of this city for plunder for the Heathen; but all who heed My words shall escape with their lives. Those who stay will be slain with the sword or sold into captivity. This city shall not see another winter!”
    She was not aware of it when two strong men laid hands on her, stopped her mouth with a rag, and carried her away by force.
     

     
    Lord Gwyll, inspecting the defenses on the walls, received an urgent summons to the Justice Building. The messenger ushered him into Judge Tombo’s private office and shut the door on them.
    “My lord Gwyll!” said the judge. He sat behind his desk, too fat and too tired to stand up and give a formal greeting. “You’d best sit down.”
    “I have work to do, Judge Tombo.”
    “Sit down, man. I’m going to do you a favor.”
    Tombo’s office furnishings were humble to the point of shabbiness, in stark contrast to the opulence of his personal residence. Gwyll sat on a bare wooden chair.
    “Your old nanny was picked up on the street this morning,” Tombo said, “babbling treason in the guise of prophecy. She’s obviously mad, doesn’t realize what she’s doing. But at this point in the present crisis, such utterances cannot be allowed.
    “If it were anyone else, we’d have already hanged her. But I’ve been a guest in your house, Lord Gwyll. We ought to watch out for one another. So I wish to release Nanny into your custody, with the understanding that you’ll send her out of the city before another day goes by, not to return until the city’s safe again. The governor-general has agreed to this arrangement. Do you?”
    Gwyll felt sick. He should have known this would happen. How could Rhianna have let Nanny out of the house, given her condition?
    “Your eldest son, I believe, has a country house way down the river, not far from Durmurot,” said Tombo. “Send Nanny there to stay with him. She’ll be safe there. And no one would think any the less of you if you sent your wife there, too—just until the Heathen go away.”
    Gwyll let out a sigh. “My lord judge, I’m in your debt!” he said. “I’ll send Nanny to my son first thing in the morning. I should have done it weeks ago.”
    Tombo smiled wearily. “You’re not the only one with a crazy prophet in his household. We all have ’em! But come winter it’ll all be over. If the Heathen are still here by then, the cold and hunger will break up their armies and send them back east where they belong. I doubt they’ll be able to make this kind of unified effort again in our lifetimes.”
    “God grant it may be so,” Gwyll said.
     

CHAPTER 11
Merry Mary
    Two days after they lost Ivor, Jack and Ellayne and Martis were well out on the plain, still plodding along toward Lintum Forest. But now when the wind was right, Wytt said he could smell the forest. It lay straight ahead of them. Another day or two would get them there.
    “How empty the plain is!” Ellayne said as the day wore on. “It’s hard to believe people ever lived here.”
    Wytt jumped up on Ham’s pack and whistled, chattered, and brandished his sharp