Robert Hughes - The Power and the Prophet

But where I carry them, beyond Tuckad Castle, I really cannot say.”

“That’s fair.” Syth started to leave the room. Then he stopped at the door. “But I haven’t judged you wrongly, Rosha. If you think somehow we disagree, then you have misjudged me.”

All available barges were pressed into service, but it still took several hours to get the army across the water to the North Coast. The minute the last citizen soldier stepped off into the snow, they left, riding as swiftly as possible to Seriliath under the coverage of Mar-Yilot’s cloak. They spent the night there, but were up before dawn and gone, leaving the city empty of men and of horses. Bainer joined them that day on the road with his few warriors and began a tedious monologue that lasted a half hour before Syth interrupted.

“Bainer? Have you noticed anyone following us?” Syth asked, and he craned his head to look back along the column.

Bainer frowned. “I’ve not, no. But if you wish, I’ll take my fellows and ride back there—”

“Wonderful idea!” Syth smiled. “Why don’t you just establish a rear guard to insure that we’re not surprised like the last time.”

Bainer nodded importantly and reined his horse around to ride back down the column. Rosha frowned slightly and looked across at Syth. “I thought Mar-Yilot was covering us?”

“She is,” Syth grunted.

“Then what’s the need in that?”

Syth chuckled. “My ears need the rest. Don’t yours? Besides, I’m trying to plan.”

“Plan what?” Rosha asked.

Syth looked at him with a sly smile. “A task fit for a hero.”

Rosha raised his eyebrows in surprise, then turned his eyes forward. They didn’t speak again for the rest of the ride.

They reached Tuckad’s keep by nightfall, and found that Cerdeb had already arrived. The man’s face looked haunted. Few riders had accompanied him from his home far to the south in Downlands region, and the trip had been harrowing. “Dogs,” he murmured. “Wicked beasts. They can talk! And slavers, of course. And now you speak of monsters…”

Much more in evidence were the burnt orange tunics of the merchant house of Hann. Syth had good relations with these traders and had harbored hopes that they might lure other trading houses to his cause. He quickly found the Hanni leaders and pressed them on the matter. “What about Blez or Uda?

They hate Flayh’s Ognadzu colors as much as you do, don’t they?”

“We all despise Flayh,” Laph mod Parem answered apologetically. “But no one else seems ready to fight him. Blez is a small house. The men of Wina are terrified. Uda is in a state of chaos. They lost their local leader last spring, a fellow named Tahli-Damen. The man went blind and then later lost his mind, and his family attributes all of this to Flayh. Now we have word that their ruling elder, Jagd, was assassinated in Chaomonous. Flayh is at the heart of all these doings.” Laph and his brother merchants exchanged anxious looks. The trader went on, “You must remember, Syth. All of us watched Flayh display his power at the last meeting of the Council of Elders. We realize what we’re facing. And now that he has tugoliths—”

“You know for certain they’re tugoliths?” Rosha interrupted, and the merchant nodded grimly.

“They were stolen from Lamath when Flayh overthrew the religious governor there. They’re malleable creatures that can easily be shaped to the personality of their handler. Rumor has it that their handler now is Admon Faye.”

Syth nodded wearily and turned away. One could always trust the information of merchants. It was their business to know. He controlled his despair and looked back at Laph. “What can you tell me about new developments here?”

Laph sniffed and shuffled his feet. “Pahd mod Pahd-el has mustered the Mar. Or rather, his mother has in Pahd’s name.” Syth raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t receive that notice.”

“Yes, well, you wouldn’t, would you?” Laph said. “I suppose not. Who stands with him?” Laph snorted. “Everyone. Accept you and yours, us, and Ferlyth. Some are more active in their support than others, but only Carlog and your northern cities have resisted him.”

“What about Garnabel?” Syth asked. “If you know about the tugoliths, you surely know what happened to Belra, their citylord.”

“Yes. Kam described it to me.”

“Garnabel has totally surrendered. They’ve elected Pahd’s cousin Janos as their new citylord and marched three thousand men to the capital.”

Syth absorbed this news with a strained smile. “It’s a wonder that you still stand with me, knowing all of this.”

“We’ve come for only one reason. We’ve opposed Flayh too long for him to welcome us. He’s a vindictive little man, and if he captures us, he’ll kill us all—or worse. Our one hope is you and the Golden Throng.”

“Bronwynn!” Rosha grunted. “Where is the Golden Throng?”

“Encamped on the Westmouth Plain. With the aid of Pelmen Dragonsbane, they routed the army of Lamath and passed through Dragonsgate.”

“Ah-ha!” Syth cried, cheered at last. He grabbed Rosha’s hand and gripped it hard. “Here is finally some good news!” Laph mod Parem shrugged. “Perhaps. But if Lamath turns and closes the pass, their retreat will be blocked. And while I’m told it’s a grand-looking army, they’re untried in battle.”

“You said they routed—”

“With Pelmen’s aid,” Laph said meaningfully. Then he asked with a raised eyebrow, “Can we count on Pelmen’s aid?”

“That I don’t know,” Syth countered. “But we can count on Mar-Yilot.”

“All Ngandib-Mar trembles before the Autumn Lady,” Laph said politely, “but Flayh has proved himself darker and harder than even she. Joooms is with him, and so is the twin-killer.”

“Yes, we know about Terril.”

“Then if you will,” Laph pleaded, “ask your lady if she can contact Pelmen and request his succor.

Without it, we’re lost. We may be lost with it.”

Syth sighed, and patted mod Parem on the shoulder. “I’ll ask her right now. Come on, Rosha.” He started for the stairs that led to the chambers mod Tuckad had allotted them.

“You mean she’s here?” Laph asked.

Syth smiled. “A part of her.” They went up the stairs to find her.

Mar-Yilot glowed at the far end of their long, dark room. No tapers burned, nor were any needed, for the orange corona that ringed her transparent image provided all the illumination necessary. Her face was drawn with frustration and weariness, but that was her most common expression, so Syth felt no alarm.

He walked confidently across the wooden floor to her, Rosha still trailing behind. “You’ve come.” Syth smiled.

“I said I would,” Mar-Yilot responded. “You are all safe?”

“We are.”

“Did Cerdeb arrive safely?”

“Yes.” Syth smiled wistfully. “But I can’t say he brought much encouragement with him. Nor many warriors, either. He didn’t have the luxury of coverage as he traveled. It looks to me like he’s already making peace with defeat.”

“He’s a Downlander.” Mar-Yilot shrugged as if that explained everything. Maris hailing from the Downlands did indeed have a reputation for faltering under pressure. “What of the House of Hann?”

“They’re here with a full complement. But they, too, are worried. They’ve requested that you seek out Pelmen and plead for his succor.”

Mar-Yilot snorted and propped a hand on a hip. “Did you tell them young Rosha here might have more influence with him than I?”

“I told them only that I would ask you. I said nothing of our contact with him, nor of his quest to reassemble this ancient weapon. Their information worried me more than Cerdeb’s long face. Apparently Flayh has bent all the shapers save yourself and Pelmen to his will.”