Robert Hughes - The Power and the Prophet

The blow knocked him from his saddle, hurling him to the ground with a crunch. His scream never had time to form. There was the odor everywhere of desert dogs, of fetid breath, and of terror. One beast leaped astride his chest and slavered in his face as another ripped at his gown. Still another batted his head with a heavy paw. He’d been mauled by a dog before and thus had a horror of them already. But these were no ordinary dogs. “Show!” one growled in his ear. “Where!” another barked. “Now!” a third bayed at the sky, and the word turned into a horrible elongated howl. He fought them off, flailing his arms and rolling onto his stomach to shield his treasure beneath him. This only incensed the pack, and some began to burrow under him, raking his sides with their claws. Others ripped savagely at his back. Now he screamed, screamed again, and screamed yet a third time as the high, fierce screech of a fast-approaching bird of prey shattered the desert peace still further. He’d already given himself up for dead and was bewailing the injustice of dying as the dinner of a pack of desert dogs, when the whole pack scattered at a run. He heard the falcon screech again, at some distance now, then heard the fast beat of powerful wings churning toward him, over his head, and away in the opposite direction. The Tellera resumed its placid, silent character as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Desert dogs—real desert dogs—did not attack human travelers. Tahli-Damen doubted these were dogs at all, and the thought terrified him. But his dread and dismay rested not upon the attack of these weird dogs alone, but also on the shape taken on by his rescuer. He had suspected it earlier, but forbade himself to believe it. Now he knew with certainty the identity of his traveling companion. He couldn’t move from the place where he’d fallen. Had he been able, he would have burrowed into the sand.

“Let me help you up,” his companion said quietly.

Tahli-Damen made no move to respond. “You’re Pelmen.”

The stranger sighed. Instead of hoisting up the blind blue-faither, he sat beside him in the sand. “Are you surprised?”

“Not surprised,” Tahli-Damen mumbled into the earth. “Just terrified.”

“You’d thought taking the sky blue robe would free you from the influence of powershapers.”

“I had hoped,” the blind man said mournfully.

“Hmm.” Pelmen nodded. “I thought that too, once. But as long as there are powers to shape, then shapers will use them to their selfish, evil ends.”

“So you battle powers with powers,” Tahli-Damen said bitterly. “And I am, again, between you!”

“It’s either be between us or be alone with the dogs of Flayh. It wasn’t me they attacked. It was you.”

“To get at you,” the merchant said evasively.

“No. To get that pyramid of crystal that hangs around your neck.”

Tahli-Damen clutched the object to him. “So now you’ll take it away, instead.”

Pelmen snorted. “If I’d wanted it, I would have it already. You slept for several hours this afternoon, remember?”

“Why didn’t you take it, then?”

“I supposed that the Power we serve has given you some instructions concerning it. Am I right?”

Tahli-Damen responded grudgingly. “I’ve been sent to give it to the Prophet Lamath.”

“Then I suggest we be on our way. If we stay here, those doglike demons will be back—and not even a powershaper has limitless energy.”

Tahli-Damen felt himself being pulled to his feet and was led across the sand. He was relieved to hear the stamping of his horse and to feel the animal’s strong back come under him as Pelmen helped him up.

He’d feared that the horses were lost. After a moment of silence, Tahli-Damen got up the nerve to ask a hesitant question. “Do you know the Prophet of Lamath?”

“You might say that,” Pelmen muttered. Then he grabbed the reins of Tahli-Damen’s pony, and they were off again through the desert.

By the time the sun rose on their third day of travel, they’d left the high desert behind and descended into the region of the rivers. Here the moist air gave welcome relief to their dust-encrusted lungs. They began to encounter trees, first singly, then in stands of six or eight. At last they were into the deciduous woods that lined all the tributaries of the mighty Lamathian River. These were not tall, dark forests like the massive Great Firs. They were, instead, comfortable parklands where boys could stage adventures and young lovers could stroll in safe semi-privacy. The woods were interspersed with fields, and these were crisscrossed with rows of yellowing stalks and withering vines. The summer’s warmth fled before the sharp, cool breath of autumn, and the crops stood waiting for the reaper. Already some of the trees had changed hues, as maturing leaves tired of youthful greens and experimented with the gaudy colors of fall.

It was a beautiful, if forbidding, sight, and Pelmen appreciated it. He felt in the same moment a sadness that his companion was missing all this. He tried to restrain it, but a lingering guilt remained. Tahli-Damen was right. Pelmen shared responsibility with Flayh for the bluefaither’s blindness, and it bothered him.

He’d hoped to hide his identity a while longer. While not a Mari, Tahli-Damen had lived in the Mar long enough to have a feel for events. Pelmen needed to update his knowledge; he’d been totally absorbed in his quest for Serphimera. But his meeting with the pseudodragon and the encounter with the dogs of night had convinced him that he could no longer ignore the menace in the land of mountains and mines. A mongrel sorcerer of incredible might inhabited the High Fortress of Ngandib. Flayh had brought that ancient tower to snarling, snapping life in a phenomenal feat of shaping. Now his potency increased, stretching beyond the borders of the Mar to the edges of the other great nations. Pelmen wondered if it reached to their heartlands as well.

That was something Pelmen would soon discover for himself, for they rode now to the kernel of the land of Lamath—to the capital city itself. At this rate, they would arrive by midmorning.

The ride was easy, and the surroundings pleasant. The people they passed, farmers mostly, were men of simple appetites and open faces. The relaxing sway of the saddle combined with the long night’s ride to lull him almost to sleep. Pelmen fought it, stretching his arms, twisting his shoulders from side to side, and shifting his weight from one aching buttock to the other.

He almost missed seeing the little chapel nestled in a grove outside a village. When he did see it, the vision brought him awake with a shiver. The weeds had been cleared away from the door. It had been newly painted a glossy midnight blue. And over the arch hung the terracotta figure of a double-headed dragon.

“Come on!” he snapped to no one but himself, as he kicked his horse’s flanks sharply and jerked on Tahli-Damen’s reins.

The merchant came awake with a shout. “What is it! What’s happening! More dogs?”

“No,” Pelmen snarled bitterly as their tired steeds finally got the urgent message and struggled to produce a gallop. “More dragons!”

“Where!” the blind merchant cried, automatically throwing his head back, expecting to search the sky.

“Not there. In Lamathian hearts. Oh, how I wish it were just in the sky!” Pelmen saw no more of the landscape. He brooded the rest of the way.

They entered the city unchallenged; but as soon as they passed the outer gates, they were joined by a contingent of riders in sky blue gowns. Hearing the hoofbeats, Tahli-Damen grew more concerned than ever. So distracted was Pelmen by the sight of the shrine that he didn’t take the time to explain. They clattered down the broad, cobbled avenue to Lamath’s vast central square, and across it to the door of the dungeon. Pelmen was off his horse in a moment and went quickly to Tahli-Damen’s side to help him down. Then he wrapped the merchant’s shoulders in a firm, friendly grip, and guided him inside.