The Thunder King (Bell Mountain) Read Online Free

“Now we promise God that we’ll be brave.”
    Just then the scout at the crest of the ridge rolled over and came running down the slope toward them, waving his arms. Helki raised his staff and led the infantry to the top of the rise and over it with a shout.
     

     
    Ryons and his bodyguard followed at a slow trot, stopping at the top to look down on the battle. The horsemen were already beginning their sweeps around both flanks of the enemy.
    There was a tightly packed mass of women and children, forced close together and guarded by men with spears. Halfway up the rise, some hundreds of spearmen were forming a defensive line: but they would not have time to finish before Helki and his footmen hit them. Behind them stood some archers, already firing arrows over the heads of the defenders. The Abnak war cry, shrill and ululating, rang out over the battlefield; and the boy king’s Wallekki horsemen were already in position to hit the defenders in the rear.
    “It’ll be over in a minute!” Chagadai said, shaking a clenched fist without knowing he was doing it.
     

     
    But he was wrong.
    Some of the riders shouted and pointed westward, and then they were all shouting. When Ryons looked, he saw a sight that almost stopped his heart.
    Like a torrent of floodwater, a great wedge of Wallekki horsemen—enemy cavalry!—came pouring over the plain, hundreds of them: who could count them? Straight for the undefended flank of Ryons’ army they came. They would hit it like a thunderbolt. Helki would not have time to turn and meet them.
    And just at the same time, the mob of captive women came alive and overwhelmed their guards, pulling them down, snatching their weapons from their hands, throwing themselves into the fray. Madness! What could women do? But there were so many of them, and their guards were far too few to hold them—and they were directly in the rear of what defense the enemy had left. They fell upon the archers, trampling them underfoot.
    But that was all that Ryons saw because his horse suddenly bolted straight down the slope, and he couldn’t make it stop. It was all he could do just to hold on and not fall off. With a loud cry of dismay and rage, his Ghols spurred their horses after him.
    After that, it was all a blur—dust in the eyes, horses screaming, men cursing, and the clash of blade on blade, the hard thump of colliding bodies. Ryons clung to his panicked horse’s mane. He had a sword girt to his belt, but he didn’t dare to reach for it. All he could do was hold on, as he was carried right into the middle of the battle.
    He expected at any moment to be thrown out of the saddle and pulverized by hooves. By God’s grace he kept his feet in the stirrups and his legs clamped for dear life against the horse’s flanks. There was so much noise around him that he couldn’t hear himself crying for help at the top of his lungs. All he could see, anywhere, was a swirling mass of bodies, men and horses, and the gleam of flashing steel.
    And just as suddenly as it had begun, it was all over. His horse stood panting under him, held in place by a dismounted Ghol grasping the bridle. The dust settled. Men on horseback milled around him, not fighting anymore. All around him, men and horses gasped for breath.
    Chagadai came to him, his horse plodding wearily. There was a great splotch of blood across his chest, but it wasn’t his. In labored Tribe-talk he addressed his king.
    “Be glad, my father! The battle’s won; the enemy has run away. And it was you and your children who won it—us, and all those crazy women.”
    There were bodies scattered all over the field, including not a few women. But the enemy defenders were all dead, and those who sought to rescue them all put to flight. Loudly, with hoarse, unlovely voices, the Ghols began to sing again.
    “They are giving thanks to God,” said Chagadai.
    Helki, untouched by any weapon, strode up with his staff in his hand. The Abnak Hlah, son of old Chief