Robert Hughes - The Power and the Prophet

They were mined from the finest veins in the Mar—six huge diamonds, each the size of a giant’s skull. A company of warriors, sworn to secrecy, bore them by horseback around the treacherous southwestern route. They wouldn’t dare enter Dragonsgate with diamonds of this size, for Vicia-Heinox would claim them for himself. These stones were destined to be the dragon’s bane, and that would end the conspiracy at its beginning.

The Man warriors bore them to the scholars of the south, surrendering their treasures in the heartland of their hated foes. All men were allies now, for there was dragonburn on the land. In the hallways of the craftsmen, under the learned eyes of the wise, each diamond felt the chisel. Six three-sided pyramids were carefully cut—six slivers of crystal, each tapering gracefully to a point, each calibrated to fit precisely with every other. Then the wise men summoned the powershaper to meld by his magic the six sharp shards into a single diamond thorn.

There was a human failing. The cost proved too high. Unwilling to pay that price, the sorcerer improvised. He attacked the dragon alone, wielding the sparkling weapon in his bare hands. The battle—visible from distant mountaintops—left the shaper destroyed and the crystal object shattered once again into six three-sided pyramids. They all were lost for a millennium.

Now, a thousand years later, three had been rediscovered.

An autumn wind stirred the grasslands of the Westmouth Plain, billowing Pelmen’s robe out before him.

He walked briskly toward the east, his head up, his eyes fixed on the jagged peaks of Dragonsgate. He could have flown. He was, after all, a powershaper; in his altershape, he took on the form of a falcon.

Yet Pelmen was tired of flying. He’d done little else for days. And he was certain the one he sought would be on foot—if she was free to travel at all. Once again, Pelmen searched for Serphimera.

Something caught his eye. On the road above him, up in the foothills of the ancient pass, he saw a flash of powder blue. He knew instantly what it was, and it amazed him. “A sky-faither? Here?” he murmured and he speeded his already quick pace. His gown was of the same brilliant color, but he’d never before seen another like it here in this ancient land of warfare and wizardry. It wasn’t his wandering lady—she still wore the midnight blue of the old Dragonfaith. But it was someone who shared his belief, and, by the Power, Pelmen wanted to know who.

By the Power! So much of what Pelmen had done in the past few years had been by the Power. Time and again he’d been summoned to lay down his personal concerns and take up cosmic responsibilities.

Was Serphimera’s disappearance a prelude to yet another such adventure? He could hardly tolerate the thought. Yet if Serphimera’s prophecies were true—and she’d never been proved wrong yet—a new burden was even now being placed on Pelmen’s shoulders. Because of who and what he was, Pelmen Dragonsbane could do nothing other than bear it.

He could see the figure above him clearly now, and his curiosity grew. The man clothed in skyfaither blue slowly angled off the road toward the north. Pelmen glanced that way and frowned. There was a path there, but it led only to a blind canyon. Was this skyfaither camped there? When Pelmen’s gaze flicked back to the blue-clad figure his frown deepened with concern; the man tripped and fell.

He didn’t throw out his arms to cushion his fall. Instead, he clutched them to his chest, as if he shielded something within his robes that was above value and that must be protected at all personal cost. Pelmen would have raced up to help him then, but there was a shout from the canyon above. Almost without thought Pelmen drew a shield of invisibility around himself, a spell shapers referred to as “the cloak.” He disappeared.

There were boys among the rocks, playing at being men. They shouted back and forth, proving themselves upon one another—a harsh process that could make the mildest of lads brutal for an afternoon. Suddenly the noise died as they spotted the blue figure climbing toward them. They took his presence as some kind of challenge. “Halt!” one of the larger boys commanded. When the bluefaither kept on coming, a ring of lads quickly closed around him. Pelmen felt the threat of violence charge the atmosphere and he drew near to help. He soon realized he didn’t need to bother; as one boy whirled the skyfaither around and drew back a fist to strike, the man opened his eyes. There were no pupils there, no irises, no whites. There were only two blank balls of powder blue. The boys all saw it together, and it sent them shrieking past the invisible Pelmen and down the mountainside. The man threw back his head and laughed. As the echoes bounced eerily off the canyon walls, Pelmen remembered. He thought he knew who this might be. He shed his magical cloak of invisibility and spoke.

“You dealt with them easily enough. I shouldn’t have worried.”

Tahli-Damen grunted in shock and whirled toward Pelmen’s voice. “Who are you?” the blind man demanded.

“A friend.”

“All my friends have names,” Tahli-Damen growled, his forehead wrinkling in suspicion.

“Where are you going?”

“What’s that to you?”

“I’d like to help you.”

“Then name yourself!” Tahli-Damen snapped.

Pelmen didn’t want to do that just yet. If this man was the one he thought, then Pelmen bore some responsibility for those hideous powder blue eyes. “That isn’t important.”

“It is to me!” Tahli-Damen snarled. “Did Wayleeth send you? Well, I’ll not go back! You can go tell her to forget about me! I’m never going back there again!” Tahli-Damen crossed his arms protectively across his chest. He was obviously concealing something within his robes. In his blindness, he was unaware of how strongly that gesture directed Pelmen’s attention to the very object the man was trying to hide.

Pelmen knew at once what it was. “Don’t try to block my path!” Tahli-Damen shouted and he started backing away.

“I won’t,” Pelmen responded quietly. “But the mountain will.”

“What mountain?”

“The one you’re walking into.”

Tahli-Damen set his jaw. “I’m climbing into Dragonsgate.”

“I’d guessed that. Tell me. Have you encountered any passing traffic?”

“There’s been no traffic through the pass for a fortnight,” Tahli-Damen grunted.

This news surprised Pelmen. It also caused him concern. Since he’d killed the great two-headed dragon, Vicia-Heinox, the pass had been blocked only once—by the villainous Admon Faye and a company of slavers. Did cutthroats once again control Dragonsgate? He glanced back at Tahli-Damen’s suspicious frown and thought of another argument to convince the man they weren’t yet in the pass. “Tell me this. Have you ever known lads—even the bravest or most foolhardy of Man boys— to stray so deeply into a pass frequented by slavers?”

Tahli-Damen dropped his head and thought on that for a moment. “No,” he grumbled sourly.

“I’m on my way through Dragonsgate myself, and your news startles me. Perhaps we can be of mutual assistance.”

“Mutual assistance!” Tahli-Damen snorted derisively. “I can’t even take the right pathway!”

“I disagree,” said Pelmen quietly. “The color of your robe tells me otherwise.”