Robert Hughes - The Power and the Prophet

“Yes!” Thug answered enthusiastically, and all the others agreed that they had enjoyed it, too.

“You want to do it some more?” he asked, his tone that of a teacher inviting her tots to learn a new game.

“Yes!” they said, almost in chorus.

“Very good! About a mile over that way is a castle. Karri lives there. We don’t like Kam,” he said with a scowl, and he got some sympathetic scowls back. “Let’s go knock down Karri’s castle and eat him!”

“Hurray!” The tugoliths all cheered and they frolicked away in the direction of Kam’s castle.

Tibb watched them go and shook his head. He didn’t know Kam, but he pitied him. Then he started up the Down Road, making a point of avoiding Pezi, who also climbed it on foot. He wanted a chance to think through what he had seen.

A few hours later, the House of Kam no longer existed. The tugoliths thought it was all great fun.

Midmorning on the fifth day after leaving Sythia Isle, Pelmen and Serphimera rode up into Westmouth.

They were both exhausted. So were their horses. But anticipation of this moment had enlivened their senses. Both were excited and mentally prepared for anything. They expected an encounter first with the false Vicia-Heinox.

They galloped unhindered to the center of the pass, their horses kicking up the powdery snow behind them. There they slowed to a silent stop and looked about. The pass was empty. There was no sign of the dragon.

“He’s gone,” Serphimera said.

“Maybe Flayh’s finally overextended himself,” Pelmen responded enthusiastically. “Maybe he can’t maintain the illusion any longer.”

“Or maybe he’s just off terrorizing our homeland,” she muttered.

Pelmen looked over at her and smiled. “I thought you were supposed to be the hopeful one.”

Serphimera shrugged. “You seem to be in such a positive mood today, I thought it might be a good chance to let my own fears out.”

Pelmen nodded, his smile dying. Then he dismounted. “We need to give these animals a rest and decide which way we’re going.” He looked up and noticed she was studying him. “What is it?”

“Is Lamath your homeland? You never say.”

Pelmen shrugged. “What makes a homeland? The place your mother chose to be when you were born or your own choosing when you’re grown?” He helped Serphimera dismount as he went on, “If I must choose, I choose to be a citizen of the old One Land. That makes Lamath my homeland—and the other realms as well.”

“Look there,” she said suddenly, pointing, and he spun around. A young man robed in the gown of a skyfaither approached them timidly.

Strahn eyed them with uncertainly. He was unnerved by the dark blue color of Serphimera’s habit.

Although he’d never seen either Pelmen or Serphimera, he knew them both by reputation and stood in awe of them. But it didn’t make sense that the prophet would send him in search of someone who was still loyal to the dragon. “Are you… Pelmen and Serphimera?” he asked hesitantly.

“We are. Who are you?”

“The Prophet of Lamath sent me here to meet you.”

“How did he know we were coming?” Pelmen inquired with a curious smile.

“I don’t know.” The lad shrugged. “I was going to ask you the same question. But come, we’ve got to hurry!”

“Our horses are weary. They’ll carry us no further without rest.”

“Oh, you can’t take your horses where we’re going,” Strahn said quickly. He glanced around the pass, looking for someplace to leave them.

“Where are we going?” Pelmen asked.

“Up there.” The initiate pointed up the eastern cliff face. He didn’t notice Pelmen’s gape of surprise. “I don’t know where to tell you to leave your horses.” He frowned. “I don’t think anyplace will be safe.”

“From the dragon?”

“From the battle. You can’t see the armies from here, but you can from above. The army of Chaomonous is just entering the Southmouth. The Lamathian army marched into the valley north of us just yesterday—they’ve been trying to beat the Golden Throng here. Anyway, they should clash this afternoon—right about where we’re standing.”

The need for haste was evident. Pelmen led the horses to one side of the pass and hurried back, his feet ploughing a trough through the snow. “Lead on, my friend,” he shouted, and the three started their ascent of the cliff. What looked impossible proved to be merely difficult, once their guide showed them the path.

They climbed quickly, speaking rarely. It was nearly noon and they were almost to the summit when sunlight glinting off of metal caught Pelmen’s eye. He turned around and surveyed the panorama below.

The view took his breath away—and also broke his heart. To his left, the glistening column of Chaomonous wound proudly upward through the mountains. To his right, well hidden in the rocks of the North-mouth, a contingent of blue-clad Lamathians waited. Expecting the Golden Throng to turn westward toward the Mar, the Dragonfaithers were poised for a quick, vicious thrust into the Chaon flank. They would be trying to divide Bronwynn’s army, cutting off the retreat of the front half and bottling the back of the column in the steep defile. Pelmen frowned in dismay. This would be yet another senseless conflict.

“Pelmen,” Serphimera called softly. “We’re almost to the top.”

The shaper dragged himself away from the sad spectacle

and bent his energies to finishing the climb. They found Erri waiting for them on the summit, and the prophet and Pelmen embraced like brothers. “You did find me, didn’t you?” Erri smiled.

“I think you found us instead.”

“And none too soon, by the look of things,” the prophet murmured, stepping toward the edge to survey the impending conflict. Then he looked back at Pelmen and raised his eyebrows. “Do you think we’ll win?”

“That all depends.” Pelmen sighed. “Whom do you mean by ‘we’?”

“It’s strange,” Erri said with a nod, “to find one’s loyalties so thoroughly skewed by events. I spent a good many years in the Lamathian navy, and we fought many a skirmish with golden-sailed boats. I may know a few of those golden warriors down there, but those tiny figures in blue are my friends, my kin, and—before the Power—my ultimate responsibility. It’s not an easy thing to wish defeat on one’s own countrymen. I do understand the necessity of it, however, if Bronwynn’s shining soldiers are to win through to battle Flayh.” He glanced back at Pelmen, eyeing him keenly. “But perhaps you’ve come to tell me her army really isn’t needed…”

“How would I know such a thing?”

“You’ve come for the pyramid, haven’t you?”

“Yes…”

“You must have some purpose for it.”

“Perhaps we would, if we could find the others that go with it. There were six pyramids originally, and three have been lost for a millennium. Thus far we only have one.”

“Now you have two,” Erri said purposefully as he reached within the folds of his robe and pulled out the velvet sack. “I’m happy to be rid of it.” Pelmen passed the bag to Serphimera, who wordlessly hung it around her neck, concealing it within her voluminous habit.

“Thank you for keeping it safe, my friend. I only wish I could be more hopeful about its value.”

“If it’s in the Power’s purpose, you’ll find the others.” Erri shrugged, and Serphimera nodded in agreement. “Until that happens, however, I suppose we must rely on more conventional means of resistance. It appears Queen Bronwynn must have this victory.”

“So it does.” Pelmen grunted, gazing down at the pass. The Golden Throng had reached the center of it now and was making the expected turn toward the west.