Robert Hughes - The Power and the Prophet

Oh, he would surely blame it on his mother—but it was Pahd’s fault.

Pelmen had learned the story from Ferlyth. Pahd’s mother, Chogi Ian Pahd-el, had become infatuated with Flayh and had encouraged her son to invite him into the High Fortress. The lazy king had agreed—it was easier than arguing—but within days, they both had realized their mistake. Flayh had taken the castle over.

No one had protested this but Sarie, Pahd’s wife. Pelmen remembered the woman as a slovenly, giggling party giver who had encouraged Pahd’s laziness primarily just to frustrate tier mother-in-law. It was hard to imagine her standing up to Flayh, but evidently she had done so—and immediately thereafter had contracted a violent illness. Apparently she’d been sick ever since. Ferlyth had heard it was Flayh’s chief hold over Pahd; despite his laziness and self-indulgence, it was well known that Pahd worshipped his little wife.

So now he slept, Pelmen thought, to block out her illness and his own guilt. The king stirred, and Pelmen stepped back to the door. Pahd raised up on one arm, looked blearily at Pelmen and whispered, “Sarie?”

Then the drug of sleep reclaimed him, and he settled back into his pillows, a satisfied smile curling across his lips.

Pelmen closed the door quietly, speculating sadly on what might have been if Dorlyth had consented to rule this nation. Now where? he wondered to himself. He sought to stifle it, but it came anyway—a sudden pang of despair. Besides hunting for Rosha, he had entered this castle with the hope that it might lead him somehow to Serphimera. He was running out of places to look.

The same servants who had denied her entry only days before now welcomed her with smiles.

Serphimera nodded and smiled back, a bit uncertain as to how she was to behave. Resentment, scorn, abuse—these responses she had great experience in handling. Warmth and friendliness were new to her.

It had been an arduous walk from the Great South Fir to this, the northern tip of Ngandib-Mar. It had taken weeks, for when she’d set out initially she’d had no idea of where she was bound. Harder to bear than the travel itself had been her guilt at abandoning Pelmen so abruptly. But how could she have done otherwise? The Power’s requirements had been crystal clear, yet Pelmen had refused to heed them! She had been needed here, he had been needed elsewhere, but each time she’d tried to point that out, he’d rejected her words, protesting that above all else they needed to stay together. She had realized finally that he would never willingly yield to their separation and she’d departed, knowing only that she must travel northward. Had he searched for her? She’d seen no sign of it. She hoped he had, but realized he might have decided she was more trouble than she was worth. She couldn’t help it. She’d had to come.

Of course, the people of Sythia Isle hadn’t understood that when she’d arrived. She’d been stared at, laughed at, and insulted. She’d had to beg to be allowed to visit their stricken lord, and then was only permitted to do so under heavy guard. When she’d reached out to touch him, one warrior nearly beheaded her, but stopped in midstroke when Syth suddenly sat up in bed. It had been no surprise to Serphimera. That was the reason she’d come.

“Is he awake?” she asked the guard outside Syth’s door. “I am!” Lord Syth called from within the room, and Serphimera nodded at the warrior and stepped inside. “You’re looking well this morning,” she murmured. “I’ve never felt better!” Syth responded, and he bounded out of bed to prove it to her. “You see? No ill-effects! And all because of you!”

“Oh, no,” Serphimera demurred, shaking her head. “I really had very little to do with it.”

“Yes, yes, I know, it was all the Power, not you. I’ve heard the speech. But are you going to stand there and deny that you made any personal sacrifices to get in here to heal me? Please don’t, Serphimera. I don’t like to call my friends liars.”

Serphimera glanced away in embarrassment and saw motion by the bed. When her eyes widened with surprise, Syth looked that way too. The filmy image of an auburn-haired woman had suddenly appeared there and was looking down at his empty pillow with a frown. “Mar-Yilot!” he shouted, and the vapory form swirled around to face them.

“Syth!” the woman began joyfully. Then she stopped short, her golden eyes fixed on Serphimera.

Syth ran to her, flinging his arms around her shimmery form in an attempted embrace. He grabbed nothing but air, but he didn’t seem to mind. “Mar-Yilot! I’m healed!”

The Autumn Lady looked past him stonily, as if she were the solid one and he but a wispy vapor. Her eyes didn’t leave Serphimera’s. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice devoid of all expression.

Serphimera recognized the look—undiluted jealousy. “Are you a shaper?” Mar-Yilot demanded flatly.

“I do not shape the powers,” Serphimera answered evenly. “Rather, I am shaped—”

“I can see that already, despite that ugly sack you’re wearing.”

“Mar-Yilot!” Syth scolded.

Serphimera smiled graciously. “You misunderstand.”

“I understand that you’re in my bedroom with my husband, and that he’s no longer under the dread. Am I wrong to assume you had some part in that?”

Mar-Yilot did not mask her hostility. Syth looked at Serphimera and rolled his eyes in embarrassment.

“A part, perhaps, but not the major part. I am but a tool, a conduit of the Power—”

“Whose power? I know all the wizards. Are you afraid to name him?”

“I did name him. The Power.”

“What are you talking about?” Mar-Yilot frowned, propping translucent hands on equally translucent hips. “Are you trying to provoke me?”

“I am not.”

“Then speak sensibly and tell me whom you serve!” Mar-Yilot demanded. “You’re robed like a stupid dragon lover,” she added spitefully.

Serphimera smiled again. “That’s because I once was a stupid dragon lover. I’m afraid this habit has become—a habit. I’ve already told you whom I serve. You may indeed know all the wizards, but it seems you’ve not yet met that One who is the source of all the powers.”

“You say that as if I’m about to meet him.”

“I hope so.”

“He’s the one who healed my husband?”

“It was the Power, yes.”

“Then what exactly are you doing here?” Mar-Yilot spat.

“Mar-Yilot!” Syth barked. The crisp authority in his voice forced the sorceress to turn to him. “Rein in your temper and sheathe your claws! While it’s obvious that this woman is beautiful, she’s not attracted to me nor I to her. She has another. And I—” he tempered his shout with tenderness. “I have you.”

Mar-Yilot gazed at him guardedly, her amber eyes very sad. “You mean you still want me?” she asked.

“Of course I want you.”

“Even though I left you uncovered in the ravines?”

From the look on Syth’s face, Serphimera could tell that this memory was painful. But Syth smiled through his hurt and said, “I’m sure you had a good reason.”

“Not good enough,” Mar-Yilot murmured, looking away. Then she brightened, and for the first time Serphimera saw her smile. “But you’re healed! Oh, I wish I could touch you!”

“And I you!” Syth grinned, his eyes gleaming in a way that made Serphimera blush. “Where are you?”

“In a bush near the High City.”

“Be careful!” Syth frowned in alarm. “I’ve tasted Flayh’s treachery once already! I won’t lose you to him!”

“Flayh’s treachery?”

“Of course! It was Flayh who planned that ambush and trapped me into the spell of dread!”

“But I thought—Bainer told me it was Dorlyth!”