Robert Hughes - The Power and the Prophet

“Thank you for your marvelous moral support!” Erri grumbled as he straightened his garments and brushed off the snow. If Strahn was offended, the lad didn’t show it. Erri sighed and once again took off down the road.

“Where are we going?” Strahn asked, walking beside Erri now.

“We’re trying to catch up with the army,” the prophet grunted.

Strahn hesitated. “The army! Why?”

“Because they’re our people and they need our help. Are you coming or not?”

“I’m coming.” Strahn nodded, but he made it clear by his pace that he wasn’t coming very fast. Erri ignored him, racing onward. Strahn was amazed how quickly the little man could move.

By afternoon, Erri caught up with the tail of the column. Without introducing himself, he made the acquaintance of Agamalath. a Lamathian warrior who was as honest as he was gruff. He was bitter and didn’t mind sharing his bitterness with this strange little man who’d suddenly joined himself to their shambling retreat. “You call this a retreat? It’s flight! A rout. We’ve been routed! When I rode with Asher, we were never even defeated, and now this] A rout. A humiliation!”

“I knew Asher,” Erri observed casually. “He was a good man.”

“Good! He was great!” Agamalath snarled. “A great man! And we lost him to this slimy lizard. A waste!

An utter waste! Great men come along once in a generation, and to lose a man like that—Bah! Who’s going to lead Lamath now?”

“That’s a very good question.” Erri nodded. “We’ve certainly had pitiful leadership since the dragon was killed.”

“Prophets,” the warrior said, shrugging elaborately. “What do they know about running a country?”

“Nothing.” Erri grunted emphatically.

“Oh, they were well-meaning enough,” Agamalath said in deference to Erri’s robe, “but they were innocents! The world is full of hard men, my friend, and do you think a handful of prophets can turn aside all those swords just by wearing light blue robes? Not a chance. I should know.”

“And I should have known, too,” Erri muttered.

“What?”

“What was their biggest mistake, do you think?” Erri asked. “The biggest?” The man scratched his beard, glanced back toward the south again, then yawned before he answered. “I don’t know. Well, yes I do. Not planning for a strong defense. You’ve gotta have a strong defense or the brigands of this world will slit your throat!”

Erri pondered that. “And yet, this army was collected in a period of days…”

“Of course! We were all sitting around the bars of Lamath, waiting for some action!”

“Then it seems, had the nation been threatened, the prophet could have collected you together as quickly as this young king did.”

“Then why didn’t he?” the warrior grunted. “Lamath was threatened, but no one called on us to help. A waste. Because that boy is even less a king than his crazy father was!”

Erri squinted his eyes thoughtfully. “So what we need is a truly great king—a man like Asher.”

“That’s it. That’s what we need. Send this boy back to his fancy estate.”

“And yet you followed him,” Erri said. He let just a hint of accusation creep into his voice, and it made Agamalath squirm with embarrassment.

“Yes,” he sighed, “I did. But you have to realize, that dragon’s reappearance carried a lot of weight.

Sham or no sham, it was impressive.”

“I saw it,” Erri grunted, and the warrior looked at him questioningly. Fearing he might be recognized, Erri deflected the man’s attention back toward the dragon. “But why did everyone believe in him so quickly?

Everyone knew the beast was killed!”

“Well,” the veteran sighed, “old beliefs die hard. And slowly, too. I should know! I was a fervent believer in Ultimate Devotion!”

“Serphimera’s group?”

“What a lady.” The man smiled, his eyes glazing over as if he saw a vision of her on the horizon. “Now, she was great.”

“She is indeed.”

“Is?” Agamalath cried. “She’s alive?”

“She’s alive ” Erri nodded. “In fact, we watched the battle together yesterday.”

The warrior winced at the mention of the battle and shook his head. “Serphimera alive. I thought she’d been eaten by the old beast!”

“So you were ready to follow the dragon again, because of that?”

“I guess so. And you know, when I started hunting around for a place to worship the Lord Dragon, all the old shrines were gone! Your skyfaither friends had destroyed every last one of them!”

Erri frowned, then nodded. “That was a mistake.”

The old warrior looked at him, puzzled. “A mistake? But you were right! It’s ridiculous to worship a dead dragon!”

“So it appears to me. But nothing confirms a man in his faith so quickly as trying to force him to abandon it. Religious persecution stiffens resistance.” Erri shot Agarnalath a twinkling smile and added, “I should know!”

“But it makes good sense to close the chapels!” the veteran grumbled. “Keep a lot of fools like myself from folly!”

Erri gazed up at the man until he caught the warrior’s eyes. Then he grunted. “It didn’t, did it?”

The prophet was a small man. Although wiry and quick, this burly warrior could have felled him with a blow. Another man might have died for such a pointed insult. But Agarnalath just looked at Erri, pondering the words. Then he shrugged. “You’re right.”

Erri glanced away, out at the numbing sameness of the white snow, and clasped his hands behind him.

“No, this mixing of faith and government is bad business. You’re absolutely right. What we need now is a great king. Someone like Asher.”

“Asher,” the warrior groaned. “Where will we find another Asher?”

“Who knows? Maybe there’s one in the making right now.” Erri thought of Rosha.

Throughout this conversation, young Strahn had walked thirty yards behind them. Just as the warrior would occasionally check to see if Chaomonous was coming, Erri would turn and wave at his young companion, urging him to catch up. Strahn had not refused; he’d simply failed to comply. Now Erri bid Agarnalath a good journey and waited for Strahn to catch up.

“Why have you been walking back there?” Erri asked peevishly.

The lad shrugged. Erri waited, and Strahn finally offered a meek explanation. “He’s wearing dark blue.”

“Yes?” Erri waited again.

“And carrying a sword!”

“That’s true.” They walked on a few more paces in silence.

“I’m afraid,” Strahn finally confessed.

“What are you afraid of? The man’s first and foremost a Lamathian! He’s…” Erri suddenly caught sight of his young companion’s face. Strahn had set his jaw and hunched his shoulders, prepared to absorb another lecture. That vision drove Erri’s rebuke right out of his head. He saw, instead, a young man of whom he’d demanded much—but to whom he’d failed to give himself. It was a startling discovery. The problem was clear: Erri’s favorites, his brightest initiates, were elsewhere. Naquin was on his own somewhere in Chaomonous. Tahli-Damen had marched unflinchingly into the jaws of Flayh. The others—those who had been closest to him during his brief period of rule—were scattered now across the country, each trying in his own quiet way to affect a deep, meaningful change in this society. Strahn was a more recent addition, a new boy. But now, as Erri looked at him, the prophet allowed himself to see potential he’d never noticed before. The Naquins and the Tahli-Damens were on their own now. But it was a world of young Strahns who would reshape the One Land and direct the attention of its citizens to the Power. And it was with the Strahns of the world that Erri needed to concern himself. Erri pondered a moment in silence. Then he said, “You know, I’m afraid too.”