Robert Hughes - The Power and the Prophet

“Why?” the young man asked.

“If I’ve understood the Power a’right, we’ve got to meet someone here. But I don’t relish having to wait in full sight of that dragon, illusory or not.”

His words had a powerful impact on young Strahn. “Of course we can make it!” he said enthusiastically and he turned around and tackled the hill.

Erri followed more slowly, conscious that the dogs were accompanying him to the base of the cliff.

“You’re welcome to climb with us, if you want,” he offered. Then he cocked his ear—had one of the hounds whined, slightly? He looked at the circle of eyes, but heard nothing more. He took a deep breath and started up the mountain. “I’m an experienced old climber,” he said to himself with a slight grin. “Let’s see if I can beat this boy to the top.”

Three hours later Erri clutched an icy boulder and gasped for air. The temperature was dropping rapidly—his breath

whooshed out in great gusts of steam. He had to have some rest. It annoyed him to note that Strahn had already been to the top once and had come back down to fetch him up. He realized now that while he’d shinned up many a mast, the good salt air had never thinned away to nothing as did this mountain variety.

“Just a little bit higher,” Strahn encouraged apologetically. “We’re almost there.”

“You said that same thing two hours ago, Strahn, when we were right down there!” Erri pointed to a cluster of rocks several hundred feet below them.

“I… I know, it’s just that… well, look how much closer you are!”

Erri looked up at Strahn with a frown, then leaned his head back to try to see the summit. “Looks just the way it did when we were back down there! I can’t tell that we’ve made any progress at all!”

“But we have, we have,” Strahn said almost pleadingly. “Come on, Prophet, you can make it! There’s a small cave at the top…” Strahn added this as he shot a doubtful look at the clouds.

“I know, I know,” Erri grumbled. “I can see it too. Snow’s coming.”

“Perhaps if you could hurry—”

“I’m coming as fast as I can!” Erri shouted, sorry immediately for the outburst. As if his shout had shaken it loose from the clouds, the snow began to fall—and Erri took a deep breath and started climbing in earnest.

It was another hour before they made it to the summit. By that time they were both covered with frosty white flakes, and shivering helplessly. But, as Strahn had promised, there was a small cave, and they plunged into the back of it and clung together to hold some warmth between them. Suddenly Erri sat back, a puzzled expression barely visible on his face in the dim light.

“What is it,” Strahn asked worriedly. Erri clutched for his chest, and Strahn shouted, “Prophet! Is it your heart?”

Erri glanced up at him. “My heart? No. It’s this thing.” He pulled the bag from under his vestments and held it up. “It’s glowing hot all of a sudden.” The prophet opened the velvet sack, and both of them were dazzled immediately by the pyramid’s brilliant glow. Strahn whirled away from it, covering his eyes, but Erri sat forward and peered into its radiance. For there, visible within it, were the faces of two of his finest friends.

When the last sack of insects had been purged from the palace, Bronwynn sent word for Naquin to meet her. She greeted him with an apology and nothing more. Further words were unnecessary. The whole city had seen the attack begin, and few inhabitants were untouched by it. Word had spread quickly of Queen Bronwynn’s incredible delivery of the castle, so the national mourning was tinged with euphoric patriotism. Chaomonous, already mobilized for war, now had the will to fight it. Everyone praised Bronwynn’s wisdom in remaining behind, and the story of Danyilyn’s impersonation drew laughs in every tavern as an excellent joke on the enemy. Nor was there any longer any question of who the enemy was. There had been magic involved in that massing of clawsps. Those Mari savages wanted another war. The previous humiliation of the Golden Throng still rankled most Chaons, and the queen’s stunning victory had restored their national confidence. Important matters needed to be attended to. A state funeral for those killed was the first priority. But there was no question in anyone’s mind that Bronwynn would then swiftly rejoin her army and lead it to triumph in the north.

No one questioned it except Bronwynn. She tried in vain to reopen the conversation with the Imperial House. The castle was silent. It was dead—so stone cold as to make her wonder if she’d imagined its speaking to her. There was no counsel there. Nor could Naquin offer any advice. These startling events had taken their toll on his own understanding of the faith, for he couldn’t deny that the Power had issued the warning, nor could he ignore that magic had effected the victory. He was beginning, however, to rationalize things together in his mind. Since he’d first met Bronwynn, he’d regarded her as somewhat tainted by her connection with Pelmen. Now he viewed her with a newfound respect. He still couldn’t quite tolerate the concept of magic, but miracles were certainly permissible. “Did you feel any… any sense of being… controlled from outside when you destroyed these vermin?” he asked the queen quietly as they waited for the funeral procession to begin.

“No,” Bronwynn grunted, rather impatiently since she knew why he was asking. “Just a terrible rage.

Which I still feel now,” she added bitterly, as she cast her eyes back over the long line of coffins. They were draped in sky blue, by her order. Naquin had considered protesting, but thought better of it. After all, he had no way of judging the spiritual condition of the dead. “You have no further word from the Power?” Bronwynn snapped sharply, and Naquin jumped, startled.

“No, my Lady. Unless, perhaps, the command to wait is still in effect.”

Bronwynn gazed away, over the heads of her grim-faced bodyguard. “I don’t think so,” she said quietly.

Then she looked back at Naquin. “And when there’s no other word, what more do you have to go on?”

It seemed to Naquin that she was much older than the young queen he’d argued with two days before.

Then he thought no more about it. The procession had begun, and he stepped into his priestly role.

After the ceremony, Bronwynn returned to her apartments to pack. She did so haphazardly, packing a trivial item, then discarding an essential, her mind wandering constantly to other things. Rosha seemed very far away, like a pleasant dream that had never really come true. Everything she picked up held memories, and she finally had to sit on her bed and weep for a while before she could finish the job. It was foolish, she realized, to pack everything herself. A single summons and a dozen maids would rush to do it for her. But at the moment, she felt very private—she didn’t need a lot of chattering women around her, trying to cheer her up.

Once packed, she called her guard to bear it all away and changed into comfortable riding clothes. She started out her door, but something stopped her. Curious, she thought. That would be a senseless, even dangerous act. Nevertheless, she walked back through her chambers to a small vault hidden in her bedroom and took out an object stored there. It was the pyramid that had belonged to Jagd, bagged in a sack of blue velvet. “Stupid,” she told herself as she looked at it. Even so, she slipped the bag’s drawstring around her neck. After donning a heavy cape, she went down to meet her personal brigade in the stable.

“Bad day to travel, your Highness,” one of her guards commented, but there was no suggestion there that they wait. He, like the rest of her force, was ready to fight. They were all in a hurry to rejoin the Golden Throng. However, when it started to snow on them twenty miles north of the capital, her captain urged her to turn aside and lodge at a fortified manor near the campsite. She finally agreed.