Robert Hughes - The Wizard in Waiting

“Prophet?”

The Prophet spun around, his eyes wide. The same green eye gazed down at him. “Ah… yes… Chimolitha?” he replied, hoping he had the right name. He did.

“Is that Pelmen man all right?”

Erri remembered then that this was one of the two beasts that had nearly torn Pelmen in two. His face softened. “Yes, child. The Pelmen man is all right.”

“Good,” Chimolitha said with a kind of giggle. “I like him.”

“I like him too.” Erri grinned, then he waved at the beast, and walked across the vast city square. As he reached the far side, well out of earshot of the tugoliths, he inclined his head to look at the fluffy clouds drifting high above him. “He is all right… isn’t he?” Erri asked. Then he went inside, to await the same assurance from another source that he’d so easily afforded the tugolith.

“I see,” said Pezi, nodding in what he believed was a dignified manner.

Tahli-Damen returned Pezi’s sober expression, while in his mind stifling a guffaw. This task promised to be simpler than he’d ever imagined. Already he’d identified the corner where Pezi stored his precious pyramid. Though the office was dark, with only the flame of a single candle for light, the triangular contours of the bag behind the desk had broadcast its contents to Tahli-Damen’s eyes. The only problems left to solve now were how to get Pezi to leave the room, and then how to get safely out of the keep.

“It’s quite clear,” Tahli-Damen explained. “I think you can see the advantages. The actual trade is perfectly above-board, and if the other local houses are caught in the resulting squeeze, we can hardly consider it unfair. After all, we are the two most competitive houses in this mountainous nation.” The young merchant leaned forward to place a hand on Pezi’s balloonlike knee. “And think, Pezi think of the respect we’ll win. These old codgers who’ve ruled the Council for ages they aren’t prepared to cope with this new situation. They’ve spent all their lives saying ‘yes sir’ and ‘no sir’ to the dragon what do they know about this modern world?”

“You have a point.” Pezi nodded wisely.

“Your uncle. Where is he? Off someplace playing magician, that’s what. And Jagd, my supervisor? AH he does is sit in the palace of Chaomonous playing table games. I tell you, Pezi, that pair is senile, they’re long past their prime. And as you and I both know, the other ruling Elders are all fossils as well, so accustomed to copying either what Flayh does or what Jagd does that they’ve no minds of then own.

They’re ripe plums, ready for us to seize and swallow.”

Pezi smiled broadly. He liked the plum analogy. Pezi liked plums.

“But it’s essential that we move quickly before your uncle returns or Jagd regains his courage. Otherwise, we’ll soon go back to being what we’ve always been abused slaves, standing in the shadows of two old men.”

“Ah… yes.” Pezi nodded. “I can see that. But…”

“But what, Pezi?”

Tahli-Damen never heard Pezi’s objection. There was a heavy pounding at the door. “Go away!” Pezi shouted.

“A flyer, Lord Pezi,” someone called from the corridor. “We just discovered it. I’m afraid it’s been here all night. It’s from Admon Faye.”

“Admon Faye!” Pezi stopped himself, looked at Tahli-Damen, then struggled to his feet and hustled over to the door. “Give!” he commanded, and he was handed a small scrap of paper that wanted to roll back into a cylinder. He scooted to the candle and unrolled the scrap to read it. He made a point of hiding the scribbled message from the eyes of Tahli-Damen, but might just as well have handed it to him in the first place, for all the good that did. Pezi moved his lips when he read, and Tahli-Damen simply read them. It was a terse message AM RIDING TONIGHT AD MON FAYE but it was enough to send Pezi into tail spinning confusion. “You ah you remain here.” Pezi ordered, and he started from the room. Then he stopped. “No. Leave. You must leave.”

“But Pezi, what about our plans? Our future?”

“Oh. The future.” Pezi pondered for a moment. “Ah, stay where you are, I have to send a message to my uncle ”

“What’s it about?” Tahli-Damen asked innocently. “The invasion of oh, never mind,” Pezi covered hurriedly. “It’s nothing of importance, believe me.” Pezi rushed into the corridor, the sudden beads of sweat popping out onto his head a clear indicator that the fat man was lying.

An invasion by Admon Faye? Must be of the palace of Chaomonous, Tahli-Damen thought to himself. Jagd would certainly be pleased to have some advanced warning

“On the other hand,” Tahli-Damen said to himself, remembering his own words of a few moments before perhaps Jagd didn’t need to be warned at all. Certainly, there would be no question who would head the family of Uda if Jagd were gone…

Tahli-Damen dove under the desk and scooped up the bag. A quick check of its contents assured him it was the item he’d come to pilfer, then he was out into the corridor and running through the courtyard. “Your Lord Pezi needs you,” he cried to the gatekeeper. “It’s an emergency!”

“Let him wait,” the porter responded angrily. The back of the man’s neck still burned from his contact with the sugar-clawsp. Then, without Tahli-Damen’s even asking, the man opened the gate and let him out. It was really almost too easy.

A single flame sat on the table before Flayh in the darkened room. He stared into it, breathed deeply, then chanted: “By the powers of the sea, by the powers on the wind, by all powers that may be, let this castle’s life begin!” His volume built quickly through the brief rhyme that formed the linking spell of all the work he’d done. Then he waited in silence, watching intently as the smoke curled up from the candle listening. At last it came:

Awake! the High Fortress of Ngandib snarled, and wind whistled through its corridors. Doors slammed and age beams cracked, bells rang, and the horses housed in the cave beneath the castle screamed in terror. It was late, and most of the palace-dwellers had long ago retired, but everyone woke up now. Even Pahd mod Pahd-el.

“What in the ” he began, then his voice left him as he gazed at the tall window. The room was dark, but moonlight streamed in, illuminating the terrifying inrush of wind that caused the long drapes to stream out from the wall and up toward the ceiling.

“Pahd,” Sarie whispered, “do you think…”

“Yes, my love,” Pahd murmured, hugging her trembling body close to his own. “I think our shaper has made good his promise.”

“It scares me,” Sarie whimpered.

Pahd licked his lips and didn’t reply. There wasn’t a warrior in the world who could cause him concern. But this scared him witless.

“Stop!” Flayh commanded.

Why? the castle sneered, and Flayh’s own window blew open with a bang.

Undaunted, he chanted again: “By the powers of the wind, by the powers of the sea, by my powers you begin, all your powers rest in me!”

The High Fortress laughed aloud. Flayh was ready for that Without a word he altered shape and his magic transformation turned the laughter of the Fortress into a long howl of pain. Flayh did not hurry to resume his human form. When at last he did, it was Flayh who was laughing and not the Fortress.

Who? the High Fortress asked him.

“I am your master,” Flayh said quietly, and he blew out the candle. For the rest of the long night, Flayh sat in his black room smiling.

THE ONRUSHING SLAVERS did not stop with the coming of daylight. They just left the main road and spent the entire day in the saddle. No words were exchanged, not even during the infrequent pauses in their journey. This trip had a very different flavor from Bronwynn’s exhilarating ride through the Great South Fir. Raucous laughter had been replaced by muffled grunts. Wild careening over bushes and brush had given way to disciplined, orderly riding, the kind one would expect from a crack equestrian brigade. Every slaver present knew he had entered the territory of a deadly enemy. No one was foolish enough to take the Golden Throng of Chaomonous lightly especially not when he considered the reputation of Lord Joss. Several of the slavers had spent time as Joss’ captives and had shared sobering stories of his cruelty. It was in deference to Joss* skill as a tactician that the troop divided at midday. While the bulk of the riders forded the river twenty miles north of the capital, sixty of the finest horsemen continued southward. They were to make a carefully planned raid on the city*s northwestern suburbs. Admon Faye felt confident that the raid would draw Joss out of the castle and cover his larger contingent’s entry into the city sewers.