Robert Hughes - The Power and the Prophet

They both turned to face the wall of dragon dung which was the source of the horrible stench. “They must be in there somewhere,” Pelmen muttered.

“Shall we start?” Serphimera asked and they each picked up a flat stone and began to dig. The outer layer had solidified and was hard to break through. The deeper they dug, however, the softer the substance became. With blessed adaptability their noses became inured to the smell. Before long they had shed every trace of fastidiousness and dug with their hands. The task was far from pleasant, yet they were together, and there was a certain joy in that. They were soon befouled from head to foot, but since both were in that state they were careful not to judge. And their purpose was clear. They worked with the certainty of inspiration and the faith that they must find what they sought.

They uncovered mounds of gemstones—huge rocks of crystal that, once cleaned, would sparkle like the stars. They also found weapons, chains, helmets, and breastplates—the undigested accessories of all those the dragon had consumed. But so far they had found nothing that even resembled the objects they needed. “It was centuries ago that he swallowed them— if he swallowed them,” Pelmen said. “We have to expect they would be in the earliest layers.”

Serphimera grunted agreement, preferring not to open her mouth to comment. Suddenly, however, the wall she was working at so diligently collapsed before her, and she couldn’t help screaming “Pelmen!

Come here and look at this!”

“What is it?” Pelmen shouted, nearly sliding down as he scrambled over piles of dung to get to Serphimera’s side. “Have you found another one?”

“Just look!” the priestess said again, her face radiant with discovery.

The light was poor. Quickly Pelmen summoned a ball of orange flame and waved it through the hole created by Serphimera’s digging.

They both gasped. Then they plunged forward together, squirming and shoving until both wiggled through the hole. They clasped hands, and turned around slowly, surveying the room. It, too, had been fouled by the dragon, but that could not hide its splendor. The floor was paved with delicately painted ceramic tiles. The walls were lined with thick, polished slabs of gorgeous marble, which reflected back the fireballs’ illumination brilliantly. The ceiling rose far above their heads and was curved like the underside of a dome. The room was huge—two hundred feet from one wall to the other, Pelmen estimated—and was circular. From where he stood, Pelmen could make out three sizable corridors angling off from it in different directions, all running deeper into the mountain. But the room’s dominating feature stood in its center. A circular dais rose on concentric marble rings to a height of thirty feet; on top of it sat a jewel-encrusted throne. The platform wasn’t fully visible. Piles of dung and hoarded treasure hid a large part of it. But Pelmen could make out its form and knew immediately what it was. He stood in awestruck silence, gawking upward.

“Where are we?” Serphimera asked, her reverent whisper preserving the wonder of the moment.

“We’re in the throne room, my love.”

“Of what?”

“That’s the throne of the ancient One Land.”

Like excited children, they explored it. In the world outside, the sun went down, but they paid no heed to the time. They investigated every part of the huge throne room, Pelmen stopping every few minutes to read and interpret another inscription he found carved in the marble. He did so effortlessly. They were inscribed in those same strange rune-shapes he’d learned first from the ancient book. Once they completed the circuit, they left the throne room, intent on exploring the corridors. They soon realized this could be an endless task. The hallways went on and on, expanding outward into still more hallways, and those into others. Pelmen understood, now, why the capital city of the One Land had never been found.

It was a city under the earth.

They tired, eventually. Without a word to one another, they returned to one of the first rooms they’d explored together. It was a bedroom; by the richness of the canopied trappings and the size of the canopied bed, they’d judged it to have been the sleeping chamber of the kings. Serphimera had found a marble tub in a small adjoining room. After experimenting with a pair of handles, she found that she could fill the tub with water. They stripped off their stinking garments and climbed in, washing the dung from their bodies. Then they made their way to the bed. Here at long last their love was consummated. It was, after all, their wedding night. They slept.

Tomorrow there would be more work. Somewhere near the bottom of that dung pile that obscured the throne, they expected to find the missing pyramids. But for the moment Pelmen and his bride dreamed in one another’s arms, in a sunless realm untouched by trouble for a thousand years.

Erri hurried down the road into Lamath as fast as his legs would move him. Strahn, however, was not so eager. That quickly became obvious. When he got ten yards ahead, Erri turned and scowled at the lad.

“What’s the matter now?” he barked.

Strahn didn’t look at the prophet, but rather past his head. For an answer, he pointed and grunted,

“Them.”

Erri turned around and looked, and the sight startled him enough to make him jump. A line of the black dogs stood across the base of the road, blocking them.

“I see,” Erri muttered. “Well, we’ve been among them often enough. They ought to seem old friends by now. Come on.” Once again the short prophet barrelled forward down the hill, and the younger brother hurried to catch up. As they approached the fearful line, Erri expected the dogs to part and make a path for them, as they had previously done. When it became clear that this time the hounds weren’t moving, Erri slowed his pace. When they still didn’t budge, he stopped. Then something happened that he had never expected. One of the black dogs spoke.

“Where?” it rasped, its teeth gleaming.

Erri’s mouth fell open in surprise, but he quickly regained his composure. These beasts had revealed their intelligence often enough. He should hardly be astonished that they talked. “I’m going after the army of Lamath—”

“Where?” growled another dog.

“Why, I assume they’re less than a day’s march up the road—”

“No!” barked still another.

“Where?” growled the first dog menacingly.

“Show!” howled the hound that stood beside it.

Erri didn’t understand. “I don’t know what you’re asking—”

“Show!” the dog howled again and leaped forward. Erri was knocked onto his back and was set upon immediately by a dozen dogs who snuffled down his collar and up the skirt of his robes.

“Where?” some dog demanded again, and another said, “No!” to his fellows. At last Erri began to understand.

“If you’re looking for that magical object, I no longer carry it with me!” he shouted, and the dog atop his chest pressed its muzzle down into his face, driving Erri’s head back into the snow. Fear seized the prophet then. It wasn’t the proximity of those glistening fangs, nor the shock of the beast’s cold nose on his skin. It was the bottomless fires that stood in place of the dog’s eyes and which testified that this hound was not of the natural world. “Where?” the slavering beast snarled.

“Halfway to the Mar, where it belongs!” Erri shouted, not really even sure what he was saying.

“Mount!” one beast barked joyously to the others. Then, with the hideous baying of a pack that has scented its quarry, the dogs were off at a run. But they didn’t dash up the road to Dragonsgate as the prophet had expected. Instead, they took off across the frozen ground toward the northwest, loping easily along a direct line toward the Great North Fir. Moments later Strahn was beside him, lifting Erri to his feet.