Robert Hughes - The Power and the Prophet

“Why not?”

“Because it makes Dolna angry.”

“I don’t care,” Thuganlitha sneered. Apparently he didn’t, for he went back to horning his unfortunate victim.

“I said stop!” Pelmen shouted, throwing up his hand. He did it out of reflex, responding to the injured tugolith’s screams. Otherwise he would not have revealed his abilities in such a public place. The act left a number of tugoliths extremely

confused. Thuganlitha ended up sprawled upon his back in a far corner of the pit, a perplexed expression on his enormous features.

Chimolitha, however, took this all in stride. Such acts of justice were only to be expected from their human masters. “Thank you,” she said courteously.

Pelmen, a bit embarrassed by his incautious display, started slinking away toward the city square.

Suddenly the scaly monster’s expression changed. Pelmen had at last been recognized. “Man?” the tugolith called. “Aren’t you that Pelmen person?”

“Ah, yes,” Pelmen replied quietly as he hurried on down the street and beyond the end of the pit.

“I like you!” he heard the tugolith call as he rounded the corner. He raced along, not daring to look behind for fear he might find an admiring tugolith in pursuit. The beasts could easily push their way out of their enclosure if they chose to. Pelmen hoped no one would ever be fool enough to give them the idea.

He found it ironic that only a beast had recognized him today, but that was easily explained. On that morning when he’d nearly been executed, no one had gotten a closer look at him than had Chimolitha. He was greatly relieved when he arrived back at the refectory of the skyfaither brotherhood.

On the site where once stood the old Temple of the Dragon, Erri had erected a huge, square meeting hall. It was sparsely furnished and utilitarian, suiting the personality of its builder. It was here that Erri held court and where he also fed as many of the city’s beggars as could crowd inside, nor was it simple fare he placed before them. Although he ate nothing but a coarse bread pudding himself, Erri provided his guests with the best food Lamath had to offer. This practice had stirred great debate among the brothers.

Some criticized the extravagance. Others heatedly argued that this would make the city’s poor too dependent upon the faith. Erri squirmed a bit in discomfort as he listened to the arguments, for they all bore the seeds of truth. But he didn’t change his policy. He continued feeding the masses, paying for it out of the riches that had accumulated over the centuries in the coffers of the Dragonfaith. The wealth was there. Why not use it to meet the needs of the hungry? And who could distinguish by sight who was deserving and who was not? There were certainly some professional beggars who availed themselves of a free meal each day.

There were others who had grown overdependent. But Erri could point to a growing number who had come originally to gorge themselves on hams and spice cakes, but who’d stayed to don blue garments.

No one was compelled to do anything. Erri had resisted urgings to sermonize before serving the meal.

Brothers and guests alike could eat their fill of whatever they liked. But Erri’s unassuming example continued to have its impact on some. Many now took only bread pudding.

Pelmen was jostled and shoved at the doorway, but the crush of the crowd at last pushed him inside.

Erri spotted him immediately and hailed him over to sit down. The saintly prophet lowered his voice—an unnecessary precaution amid the scraping of spoons and the rumble of conversation—and asked, “Any news of her?”

“None.” Pelmen took a large roll and a slice of roast. Asceticism was fine for others. He’d never pretended to adopt it himself.

Erri nodded. “I didn’t expect you to learn much. What will you do now?”

“You mentioned a monastery reopening in the Lakelands district. Perhaps I’ll go search there—”

A commotion at the doorway caused him to break off, and both he and Erri stood up to see who had caused it. The man who stepped into the great hall contrasted sharply with the ragged beggars and the brothers in blue. He was heavily armored in plates of burnished bronze, trimmed with gold. His helmet was adorned with delicate arabesques of that costly metal, and plumed with golden feathers. A fish-satin robe of the same dazzling color draped from his shoulders to brush the flagstone floor. But if his costume seemed out of his place, the man’s stern visage fitted with the rough faces around him. It was a soldier’s face, sallow and harsh, lined by years of command. This was General Joss, until recently the Lord of Security for the land of Chaomonous and now Bronwynn’s ambassador to Lamath. Erri waved him over.

The general smiled sardonically and picked his way through the chomping host. “Lord Ambassador, welcome. I never expected you here—”

“Nor did I,” Joss said quickly. He stepped over the bench to seat himself between two of the brothers.

“I didn’t learn until this morning of the arrival of your elusive guest.” The general’s hard eyes locked with Pelmen’s. “I came to greet him in the name of my queen.”

Pelmen nodded. “Hello, General. I’ve never seen you looking so splendid.”

Joss glanced down at his fancy trappings. “I personally find this outfit repugnant. However, it goes along with the office. I’m willing to make the sacrifice for Chaomonous.” The general studied Pelmen’s peasant garb and said, “I see you’ve kept your same tailor.” Pelmen laughed at that, and the general permitted himself a brief smile. These two men had long been adversaries. Joss was working hard to establish cordial relations.

“I wonder, Lord Ambassador, how you learned that I was here?”

“He has his sources,” Erri said as he took another spoonful of pudding.

“I find it expedient to keep informed. Pelmen, I have an urgent message for you from our queen.”

“What is it?”

“You want me to tell you here?”

“Is it a state secret?”

Joss blinked. “Perhaps, perhaps not. I’m just unaccustomed to revealing private messages in a public place.”

“This is where you found me. What is it?” Joss frowned. Then he lowered his voice and spoke.

“Young Rosha has left Chaomonous. The queen requests that you seek him out and return him to the court.”

Pelmen raised his eyebrows. Rosha’s action didn’t surprise him, but Bronwynn’s response to it did.

“Return him? Didn’t he tell her where he was going?”

“He left without a word.”

“Sounds like his father.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“Not exactly, but I can guess. He’s gone to find Dorlyth. Surely Bronwynn knows that.”

“The queen is concerned for his safety,” the general said.

“Shall I inform her that he is all right?” He smiled humorlessly.

“You know that I can’t say that. Rosha’s gone to war.”

Joss leaned across the rough table and spoke with a quiet

intensity. “Then I urge you to seek him out. The queen is

distraught without him and naturally assumes the worst. If he’s

not located soon, she’ll disregard all our advice and organize an army to go after him. I think you realize that Chaomonous can ill afford another war at this time.” The general sat back then, his face assuming that expression of stony resolve used by leaders challenging their troops. “Consider this an act in defense of your country.”

Erri smiled, though he didn’t intend to. “You speak as if

Pclmen is a Chaon.”

“Isn’t he?”

“I think we of Lamath might justifiably lay claim to him as well. Then again, so could the Maris, and if he goes to Ngandib-Mar, I’m sure they will. Pelmen? What will you do?”