Robert Hughes - The Power and the Prophet

“Where?” demanded one of the powers, thrusting his muzzle into Flayh’s face.

“I know,” Flayh repeated, maintaining his composure. “If , I tell you where, you must swear you will leave!”

“Where!” barked a half dozen dogs at once.

“Swear!” Flayh snarled with authority.

Several dogs answered, “It’s sworn.”

“One of the objects you seek was in Dragonsgate yesterday morning, possessed by Queen Bronwynn of Chaomonous. Another is in Lamath, in the hands of that peoples’ prophet. Now go as you’ve sworn!”

With a full-throated bay of the chase, the pack left the hallway as quickly as they’d come. Flayh waited for a moment, then took his human shape once again. “Are they out?” he asked the walls.

—They have left this fortress and are racing swiftly toward the Down Road, the castle said with relief.

The agony of so many powers present within its walls had been unbearable. It enjoyed the respite, but realized it would be brief. Soon Flayh would be back in his tower, and the cancer of magical pain would grow again.

The sorcerer swept toward the double doors of the king’s apartments and slammed them open. He pointed his hands at the two blue-robed figures and shouted, “What are you doing in my fortress?”

Terrified, Wayleeth cowered against the far wall. Tahli-Damen, however, simply turned his head in the direction of Flayh’s voice. He’d recognized it immediately, for he’d heard it often at general meetings of the Merchant League. He’d found cause to tremble at it recently, for Flayh’s ball of flame had been the last thing he’d seen. He did not tremble now. He smiled with the grace of a man of faith, and said, “We’ve come on an errand of mercy, Lord Flayh. And it appears we’ve arrived in time.” He turned his head toward Sarie, directing Flayh’s eyes there. The wizard looked, then cursed in frustration. For the first time in weeks, Sarie was sitting up in bed.

“So,” Flayh said, controlling himself enough to smile. “You’re feeling better, Sarie Ian Pahd?”

Sarie stared at him woozily, trying to make out who he was. When she did, she threw her arms over her head and screamed.

King Pahd jumped to her side, putting his body between her and Flayh.

“Come no closer,” Pahd growled.

Flayh frowned. “What did you say?”

“I said come no closer! Harm her again and I’ll lead no army in your defense!”

“I thought we’d settled that,” Flayh murmured quietly. He turned his head and called over his shoulder to a guard. “Fetch Admon Faye to me.” Then he looked back at Pahd, whose blazing eyes bulged from their sockets in agitation. Flayh spoke softly, almost tenderly. “You will lead the combined armies of the Mar, Pahd, or I’ll kill your wife outright. But you’ll not lead them in my defense. I guess I overstated your importance to me, trying to make you feel you had some worth. But listen, Pahd—I have no need of your protection. I wish your presence at the head of my army only for the sake of convenience. If the legitimacy of your royal claim ceases to be an asset to me, if you become more trouble than you are worth, I’ll simply replace you. Then you can spend all your time here, watching your dear wife suffer.

And she will, Pahd, I assure you she will. I thought we’d understood each other,” Flayh finished sadly.

“Do we understand one another now?”

Pahd gazed at the wizard as long as he dared, but at last he had to look away. He sought support in the eyes of his mother. She only frowned and raised her chin in contempt. He turned to Wayleeth, but saw only terror in those eyes. There was no comfort in the face of Tahli-Damen either—just a sightless smile, as if the man gazed permanently upon heavenly fields. Someone came through the door and he sought encouragement there. He met instead the ugliest sneer in the world, and looked away quickly lest he retch on the bed, conscious of Admon Faye’s chortle. Pahd knelt beside his wife and put his arms around her. This allowed him to hide his face in one of her pillows. There he would wait until the powershaper left.

“Slaver?” Flayh asked. “Are your war-beasts hungry? Feed them these Lamathian fanatics. Perhaps they’ll welcome a taste of home.” Then he whipped around and left the room. The appearance of the dogs had startled him and demanded immediate response from him. But he had important matters to tend to—a search to conduct and a new spell to perfect. He

had no more time to waste upon such a trivial matter as Pahd mod Pahd-el.

Tibb had not seen Tahli-Damen enter the High Fortress, but he’d heard about it. Everyone inside the castle had heard about it within ten minutes of its occurrence. The rampaging tugolith in the stables made certain of that. When Tibb heard that the sorcerer had summoned Admon Faye to the chambers of the king, he hustled toward Pahd’s tower himself. Tibb never wanted to be very far from his hideous master.

He got to the spiral steps in time to break the fall of one of the blue-clad intruders. The man came hurtling down the stairway just as Tibb rounded the corner, and the two hit the stone floor together with a noisy crash.

’Tibb!” cried the slaver in his most mockingly genteel tones. “You always arrive just in time! I fear that poor fellow tripped upon the staircase. Do help him up, won’t you?”

Tibb growled and hobbled to his feet, then grabbed the fallen figure by his tom collar and roughly hoisted him up. He suddenly saw Tahli-Damen’s eyes and he stared.

“Recognize him?” Admon Faye called, coining on down the stairs and pushing Wayleeth before him.

When Tibb shook his head, the slaver chuckled. “No, I guess you wouldn’t. You didn’t join us until after our dealings with this merchant of Uda.” Admon Faye smiled at Tahli-Damen’s uncertain frown.

“Flayh—pardon me, Lord Flayh—didn’t recognize you in there. But I did. I have a good memory for faces.” It was true. His own face was so memorable that everyone recognized him. In self-defense, he’d trained himself to memorize the faces of others. “You used to be the ruling elder of Uda in the Mar, didn’t you?”

“Briefly,” Tahli-Damen admitted.

“Until Flayh and Pelmen burned your eyeballs blue!” the slaver crowed. He made the words obscene.

Tahli-Damen didn’t reply. When his mirth subsided, the slaver went on, “You caused my employer a great deal of grief when the last Council of Merchant Elders met.”

“You were there?” Tahli-Damen asked.

“Don’t you recognize me?” Admon Faye asked in surprise.

“I cannot place your voice.” The initiate shrugged, reminding Admon Faye of his blindness.

“Of course! You can’t see me!” the slaver chortled. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

“I think I do,” Tahli-Damen murmured. “What? Speak up!”

“Could you be Admon Faye?”

The hideous brigand smiled. “I could. I surely could.” The bellowing of Thuganlitha, although several floors below, could now be heard clearly. The tugolith had overheard a comment made by someone on the landing above him about blue fools, and had taken the phrase as his own. It had become a rhythmical chant, punctuated by the stamping of his giant feet. “Feed me blue fools! Feed me blue fools!” he shouted, over and over again. It was becoming a great annoyance.

Admon Faye shoved Wayleeth down to land beside Tahli-Damen on the floor. “It seems you’re being invited to dinner.” The slaver smiled politely. “Actually, I believe it will be a rather swift passage for the both of you, which seems somewhat unlike our Lord Flayh. He appears to have a great many things on his mind; otherwise he’d want your killing to take more time. But since he was so explicit in his sentence and since we do need to quiet down that racket, I’ll bid you good-bye. Tibb? Do you think you can manage to feed these two to our enormous pets?”