Robert Hughes - The Power and the Prophet

Pelmen pondered this question, reviewing his options. He realized he didn’t have that many. Serphimera wasn’t here and evidently hadn’t been here, so his search was at a standstill. Flayh’s influence surrounded him. He could wait here and battle the sorcerer with Erri, or he could go to the Mar in search of Rosha and be sucked into the battle there. Somehow it made more sense to engage Flayh in the sinister shaper’s own region. Who could know? Perhaps Serphimera was locked in Flayh’s dungeon. His lady had a penchant for walking into trouble. Pelmen’s eyes flicked up to meet the general’s gaze. “I’ll go find him.”

Erri sighed. “And probably find a battle as well.”

“I will if he’s joined his father. Wars follow Dorlyth like clawsps chase sugar.”

“More magic!” Em grunted with disfavor.

“I know you don’t approve.”

“There’s much more to it than my disapproval—”

Joss interrupted them. “Then I may relay the word that your search has begun?”

Pelmen nodded. “You may. I’ll not have time to inform her myself. But you’d better tell her to be patient.

If he’s gone to fight a war, he’s not likely to leave until it’s over.”

“If she knows you are with him, perhaps she’ll feel comforted,” Joss said as he stood to leave. Then he bowed slightly. “For the sake of both my queen and my country. I thank you.” He bowed to Erri. “Good day. Prophet.” Then he stepped over the bench again and left quickly.

“Is it necessary that you go?” Erri asked quietly. “Can’t

“Against any other warrior, yes. Against the powershapers of Ngandib-Mar, he hasn’t a chance. Nor does Dorlyth. I’ve been delaying the inevitable, Erri. I’ve got to face Flayh.”

“You’ll be killed.”

“That’s always a possibility—”

“You’ve heard my warning,” Erri said sternly. “Rather than rushing off to shape these other powers, I wish you’d wait here until the Power shapes you!”

“Perhaps the Power is shaping me, my friend,” Pelmen said quietly.

Erri’s eyes narrowed in surprise, then he looked away, studying the far wall of the room in puzzlement.

Finally he shrugged, and nodded. “I’d offer you a horse, but I know you’d rather fly.”

“I’d rather ride.” Pelmen grinned. “It’s getting on toward winter! It gets cold enough up on those wind currents to freeze your tail feathers!”

“I wouldn’t know about that, never having had any tail

feathers.”

“But thank you for reminding me. I’ll drop by the stables and greet my old friend Minaliss before I go.”

“Your horse!” Erri said, his eyes widening in remembrance, then turning sad. “I neglected to tell you. He broke out of his stall about two weeks ago. I’m sorry, Pelmen. I sent a group of riders to retrieve the horse, but they simply couldn’t catch him.”

Pelmen’s eyes dropped to the tabletop. “Well. I’m sorry too.” He smiled wistfully. “Seems like all my friends are leaving me.”

The prophet looked up sharply and frowned. “Oh, no. It’s you who are leaving me.”

“Yes. But I leave you in good hands,” Pelmen said as he stood to go. Erri caught him by the sleeve and pulled him down to whisper:

“What about this pyramid our friend brought us?” Pelmen frowned. “Hide it. Guard it carefully. If the Power chose to send it, it must have some importance.”

Erri nodded, then said, “Do me a favor. Don’t change into a bird until you’re out of the city square. I spend enough of my time explaining you as it is.”

Pelmen laughed. “It’s a promise!” Then he stepped over the bench and pushed through the crowd, leaving Erri to mutter

about there never being enough time to get everything said.

Pelmen took no notice of the fat little man sitting by himself at the table nearest the door. Nor did the disguised merchant see him. In the presence of free food, Pezi heeded no man.

Lord Syth rode hard for the gates of Seriliath, his cape billowing back over the hindquarters of his war horse. In his train raced a dozen other riders, all cloaked in capes of the same blue and gray, wearing expressions identical to that of their master. A frown masked Syth’s handsome features, and they all saw it frequently, for he tossed worried looks behind them with every passing mile. They were not being chased— at least, not that they knew. But all save Syth believed they’d made a terrible mistake in traveling the roads today. It was common knowledge among them that Mar-Yilot was in the Seriliath tower, casting spells in search of Pelmen. That meant they weren’t being covered.

“Open it!” Syth bellowed as the small troop pounded down a ridge and back up toward the massive gates. His words could not have been heard over the clatter of steel-shod hooves on the granite highway, but the huge doors swung inward anyway. Syth did not slacken his pace. He shot through the gap like a missile from a catapult. He didn’t pause to acknowledge the gatekeepers’ cheers, nor even seem to hear them. But cheer they did, as their returned city lord drove his stallion up the steep, narrow street that led to the palace.

The noise of his arrival alerted the shopkeepers and tradesmen. These stood in their doorways and added their voices. Shutters flew open above them and still others joined in the tumultuous welcome.

Syth mod Syth-el, Lord Seriliath and rightful Jorl of the Isles, had returned at last from his island home.

He’d come to rejoin those rebel chieftains who had chosen him to lead them against the king. The people of Seriliath loved Syth, as their hearty welcome attested. But though they loved her less, they were far more fascinated by Mar-Yilot, his wife. They all craned their necks, searching for some sign of her.

When she didn’t appear, they all assumed that the rumors were true—that the Autumn Lady was already in the city, and waited with the others in the palace. Naturally, no one had seen her arrive. She traveled where she willed on

butterfly wings. But it was always a thrill to learn that the auburn-haired shaper was among them again.

As he pounded through the final gate into the palace courtyard, Syth’s anxious expression hardened into a proud, victorious smile. Behind his back his retainers exchanged smiles of mutual relief. For the first time this day, they could all breathe easy once again.

Syth cocked his head to look up at the battlements, but no noble flags fluttered there. He’d expected none. It wasn’t wise to advertise one’s location in a time of war. As he walked his horse into the stables, however, he saw the livery of the two waiting lords hanging from the rafters. His smile grew wider. He walked briskly through the main door, nodding at fawning servants and snapping off orders. In a half hour he had bathed and shaved. He was donning a fish-satin dressing gown in preparation for greeting his guests, when he was himself visited.

“You’re here today?” Mar-Yilot asked quietly.

He wheeled around and saw her standing by the drapes. He reached out to touch her, then saw the aura of orange light surrounding her and stopped himself. “Why don’t you come on down?”

“I’m busy.”

“Still hunting Pelmen?”

“And not finding him.”

“I don’t think you’re going to,” Syth said as he tied the sash around his waist.

“I thought we agreed you would come tomorrow, when I could cover you.” Her obvious aggravation didn’t surprise him.

“I didn’t agree to anything. It doesn’t matter anyway, because I’m here.”

“You could have been killed.”

“But I wasn’t. Which tells me a couple of things…”

“It tells you nothing,” she snapped.

“…about the road. First, it’s free. I encountered no opposition, either from the king or Dorlyth’s band of peculiar patriots, so—”