The wizardess rapped out a quick order, and all the other priests made a ring about the strange device and joined hands. The lady began to chant, and the others followed suit. The workmen couldn't quite hear the words, but none of them doubted that the chant was a powerful protective charm.
"Why be they doin' that, now?" Gort asked his companion. "I thought they'd bespelled all the house and grounds, even beyond the wall. Could yonder thing be especially dangersome, or would it need extra charms now that it be all put together?" His usual work was manning and repairing the derrick, and he had some skill at mechanics, as he was always quick to point out.
"Perhaps 'tis because it sits upon the wall," Hobb considered. His family had endured a long squabble over precise borders of sheep pastures, and he took careful note of physical boundaries. "Might be, their protection is set on the wall, and all below it, and all within it—but not on what rests above it. I hear spells can be particular that way."
"Like land deeds," Gort started to say, but stopped as his attention was drawn back to the wizards. The spellcasting was apparently finished, for the wizard-priests dropped hands, broke up their circle, and moved several paces away from the mounted tube. One of the priests struck a light from the tinderbox, set it to the projecting tip of the waxed cord, then hastened away to join the others. Everyone held their breath and watched as the flame sizzled redly up the cord and into the tube.
Thunder roared! Lightning flashed! Tiny storm clouds rose above the jerking tube, and a whizzing like enormous hailstones filled the air.
Out in the north field, a gout of earth leaped skyward and fountained in all directions.
The work gang cowered on the wall, jabbing quick lucky signs in the air and gulping bits of safety charms. But the priests of Deese gave a great cheer, ran closer to peer at the ravaged field and point to where the fountain had erupted. Others ran to the thunder tube and inspected it, patting it over and peering down its mouth as if it were a fretful baby. One of them took the long-handled brush and poked it down the tube, worked back and forth a while, then removed it and peered into the tube again.
"Perfect!" everyone heard the burly priest announce. "Not a sign of strain."
"She landed right within the flour circle," another shouted, peering out at the field.
Other priests whooped and hugged each other, and danced clumsy circles on top of the wall.
"Do it again," the burly wizard-priest insisted. "Another three times, at least, to be certain."
The apprentices ran back down the steps, to return shortly with more waxed cords and canisters.
"What, again?" gulped the head of the work gang, peeping out from between his fingers. "Do they mean to plow the whole field with thunder and lightning?"
"Nay, look." Gort pointed to the field, where a small apprentice ran out and scattered flour in a circle. "I think they be testin' his aim, like an archer with a new bow."
"Be that a thunder bow, then?' the gang chief marveled. "Gods defend, I'd hate to be struck with such an arrow!"
"I doubt not," Hobb considered, scratching his chin, "that Yotha himself would not care for it, either."
"Oho," said the chief, turning to look at his neighbors. "And do you note, he be aimed not a little in the way of Yotha's temple?"
"Aha," his audience answered knowingly.
By nighttime the tale had reached the villa, and by the next day it had spread all the length of Ashkell Vale.
"This is where the fist of Deese struck, Master," Yawth said, pointing.
"I have eyes." Wotheng stood up in his stirrups for a better view. "A most impressive hole in the ground. Yes, well worth the ride, Yawth. See that the messenger is thanked properly."
"Aye, m'lord. There be other holes yonder. . . ."
Wotheng shook his head, still peering at the nearer hole. "One to study be enough for him with wit," he murmured. "They can aim this thing, you say?"
"Ay, Master. They were out measuring and all. . . ."
Wotheng, preoccupied, didn't look up. "So great a hole and such a distance. Could it do thus to earth, what might it do to walls? Or to oncoming ranks of men?"
"Ey, sir," Yawth shuddered. "I wouldn't care to think."
"I daresay our most gentle and civilized friends wouldn't, either." Wotheng raised his head, lips pulling back from his teeth in a startlingly cruel smile. "They've the means, but not the will. No heads for warcraft. But if that might be changed . . ."
Yawth, knowing he was out of his depth, said nothing.
"A way can be found," Wotheng murmured. "A way to change their will, make more than one of them think like warriors. Aye, and then the northern lords might find my land less tempting."
He reined his horse around and spurred back toward home, Yawth following silently.
High Priest Folweel stood looking out the window of his study, saying nothing, his stiff back eloquent with outrage. Behind him Jimantam and Patrobe argued in furious half-whispers.
"—but your usual procedure failed! The rebound thereof has cost us badly in donations, not to mention the loss of faith among our herd."
"Well, what action have you taken? I haven't seen our herd giving more donations on your account."
"My account? I'm but the groundskeeper! I've delivered enough Blood of Yotha to fire half the vale; 'tis for you to put it to proper use. The Deese wizards have only the one thunder tube—"
Jimantam stopped there and bit his lip, as if he'd caught himself in an obscenity. He glanced to see if the high priest had heard.
Folweel had. He turned from the window and stalked back to his colleagues. "Enough recriminations, please; they gain us nothing. 'Tis clear that we deal with a knowledgeable enemy—and, now, a dangerous one. Have you learned further about this thunder tube?"
Both priests looked at the floor and shook their heads.
Folweel sighed exasperation. "'Tis also clear we must engage more subtle tools, and right quickly. Beginning tomorrow, start prophesying that the works of these new wizards are dangerous, treacherous, harmful to the innocent. Also, warn the faithful that the very construction of this thunder tube is an outrage to the gods and a threat most undeserved by Yotha and his herd. Say, 'By what right do servants of Deese of the Forge steal the prerogatives of the storm gods?' Stress the impiety first, the undeserved threat to Yotha's herd second."
"Ah, Brother," Jimantam dared to interject, "a thousand pardons, but will not the weaker among the faithful assume that such warnings are simple jealousy?"
"Let them think what they will, but plant that warning well in their ears."
Patrobe noticed the hidden pattern in the instructions. "Brother, do you . . . expect . . . some disaster connected with the works of Deese's wizards?"
"Some subtle evil," Folweel admitted. "Brother Jimantam, pray fetch Brother Oralro for me. Then go fetch me an accounting from stores concerning the following herbs." He plucked a tablet from his worktable and handed it to the priest, who wilted a trifle as he realized he was being dismissed.
The other two waited until he'd gone before resuming the discussion.
"Excellent for accounting, but no head for strategy, that one." Patrobe remarked toward the closed door.
"He serves his function, which has kept us from poverty." Folweel leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Still no spies established in Deese House?"
"No such fortune," Patrobe admitted. "They're a very closed lot, and the laborers at their wall aren't much better. The work will be finished soon, in any event, and the workmen dispersed, so there's no profit making further attempts among them. Bassip the Wagoner says they've even ordered less beer."