Robert Hughes - The Power and the Prophet

Pelmen nodded weakly. “A good plan,” he murmured.

“We’ll go to a friend’s house where we’ll find some food and a place to rest for the journey.”

“Flayh will be searching,” Pelmen grunted. “He’ll throw a net.”

“Once we’re inside the house, I’ll not shape unless I have to. He may be able to tell when we’ve slipped by his castle, but once we’re into the city and we stop all shaping, he’ll have no way to net us. He’d have to search every house to find us, and Ngandib is a very big place. Even if he did that, he’d still not find us, for we can hide as long as he can hunt. When he’s grown discouraged and turned his attention elsewhere, we’ll slip away, down the Down Road and north.”

“How long will that be? Can you guess?” Rosha asked her.

Mar-Yilot looked at him again—just looked, as if studying his face. Then, with remarkable gentleness, she answered, “Soon, I think. This Flayh is a power—and from what I’ve seen today, an awesome one.

But even Flayh can only do one thing at a time.” She turned her head away, and added, “I hope.”

Rosha had felt much better before that final disclaimer. Mar-Yilot shrugged, and Rosha sighed.

“Don’t worry,” she soothed, reaching out to pat his curly black hair. “You’ll do fine.” Once again, Rosha felt strange.

“Bring the rope—” Pelmen gasped, and they both noticed that he was now slumping down toward the water.

“You’re fading,” Mar-Yilot said, and she started to alter her shape. Then she took a last look at Pelmen’s body and added, “I’d better bring some salve and a robe as well. Not for your benefit, particularly, but for mine. Nobody else will see you, but I will, and I have too much respect for you to watch you walk naked through the streets of the capital.” The woman was suddenly a butterfly fluttering out the mouth of the cavern.

Rosha sloshed to Pelmen and hoisted him back out of the water. He let the powershaper’s head slump against his shoulder, then reached inside his mail shirt. It was still there, safely hidden away—the sharp-edged, glowing pyramid. He had it. It had cost dearly. Not only had he almost lost his own life, he’d nearly gotten Pelmen killed as well. He had been stupid, and his father would chew both of his ears off. But he had it. He had it!

“How is he?” Mar-Yilot whispered, and Rosha jumped, startled. He hadn’t seen her enter the room.

“Sorry,” the sorceress said sincerely, kneeling and laying her hand on his arm.

Rosha relaxed, and settled back onto his stool. “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I’m no herbalist. But he did drink the soup. And he doesn’t seem to moan as much.”

Mar-Yilot nodded and studied Pelmen’s face. “The salve helped. And he’s getting plenty of sleep. That’s good. He’ll need that.”

“Is Flayh still searching?”

“Diligently. I’ve felt the brush of his net at least twice. It’s a good thing he didn’t start that immediately, or he might have caught us tiptoeing around the reservoir.”

“What about Admon Faye?”

Shh—” Mar-Yilot hissed, pointing to Pelmen. The sleeper was stirring. She got to her feet and beckoned Rosha to follow her out of the bedroom. Once in the hallway, they closed the door, and Mar-Yilot answered Rosha in her normal voice. “There are groups of slavers on all the main roads, stopping everyone who passes. It’s just for show. Admon Faye knows that, if Flayh can’t find us, he certainly won’t, but he’s demonstrating his diligence. Or perhaps he’s trying to terrorize those who are hiding us into revealing our whereabouts.”

“Is there any chance of that?” Rosha muttered anxiously, thinking of the old couple who waited uneasily in the main room of the cottage.

Mar-Yilot smiled, and Rosha shivered at the sight. “Knowing what you know, would you betray me to an enemy?” Rosha understood. He shook his head. “Apart from that, these are my friends,” she went on.

“And they’re certainly no supporters of this treacherous Flayh. They’ve assured me we can stay here as long as necessary, but I think it’s best if we don’t linger. Flayh’s determined to catch us—more so than I expected. The longer we wait, the more time he has to think of ways to entrap us. And who can know what else is in that marvelous spell-book of his?” She nodded toward Pelmen’s door. “Think he can travel?”

“Now?” Rosha frowned. “The man’s been bumed! He’s exhausted! In shock! You expect him just to get out of bed and—”

“Yes, she does,” Pelmen mumbled weakly as he opened the door behind them.

Rosha jerked around to stare at him, then ordered, “Get back in that bed.”

“I’d like to, certainly. I feel as weary as the king himself. But the woman is right. There’s no safety for us here. The question is, where can we be safe?” Pelmen directed this to Mar-Yilot.

“The glade of mod Carl,” Rosha said flatly. “We’ll rejoin Lord Ferlyth and my father.” Rosha missed the mute exchange between the two powershapers. They’d silently agreed to put explanations off until later.

“I think not,” was all Pelmen said. “What do you suggest?” he asked Mar-Yilot.

“Let’s try the Down Road now. Kam’s lands are at the base of the plateau, and he’s an ally of mine. He’ll furnish us with horses, and we can start up the Riverline.”

’To Sythia?” Pelmen asked.

“Why not? Flayh knows someone helped you, but I’d wager all the diamonds on the Isle that I’m the last person he’d expect.”

Once again something unspoken passed between the shapers, and this time Rosha saw it. He didn’t comprehend, though, and Pelmen’s response revealed nothing. “I’m sure you’re right. I certainly didn’t expect it. But why Sythia, when that’s sure to be another focus of Flayh’s attention?”

“To get you some proper healing, primarily,” the woman grunted. Then she smiled smugly. “There is a woman there with healing hands. Perhaps you know of her. Calls herself Serphimera?”

“Serphimera!” Pelmen blurted with renewed vitality. “Serphimera’s there?”

Mar-Yilot turned to Rosha. “I think he’ll be able to make the trip.”

Indeed, Pelmen was already limping around the bedroom in his borrowed cloak, muttering, “Shoes, shoes—”

“There’s a pair waiting by the door, and a heavy cloak as well. The clouds and the cold tell me snow’s on the way. Let’s go”

“But what about Flayh?” Rosha protested. “Won’t he be certain to watch the Down Road?”

“He can’t watch every place at once.” Mar-Yilot shrugged. “Maybe we’ll get lucky. And if not, well—I know a trick or two.”

Moments later they’d bid good-bye to the much-relieved couple and pushed out into the cold night.

“Pelmen,” Mar-Yilot muttered, “I’ll cover us if you can manage a light.”

Without another word a small ball of purple flame appeared at eye level four feet before them, and they started off, their breath steaming in the chill. Rosha and the sorceress flanked Pelmen, propping his arms over their shoulders as they had done when carrying him around the lake. But he bore most of his weight on his own feet now. Mar-Yilot had said the one name that bewitched him, and it had summoned hidden reserves of energy from within him.

Mar-Yilot appeared to be listening for something. Then she smiled encouragingly. “We’re in luck. If he’s casting his net, he’s looking elsewhere at the moment. Let’s hurry.” Rosha stalked along briskly, aware of the cold but more aware of the eerie appearance of this odd threesome. It amazed him to think that neither they nor Pelmen’s ball of flame could be seen, yet in just moments there was new evidence of that fact. They heard boisterous laughter around a corner as they approached one of Ngandib’s larger cobbled avenues. They slowed their pace and continued walking quietly. A group of slavers had surrounded a pair of teenaged girls and were harassing them for being out on the streets at night. The concealed trio walked slowly past them without drawing a glance. Several guards held torches. In the light from them, Rosha caught sight of the terrified face of one of the girls. He almost turned back in fury.