Robert Hughes - The Wizard in Waiting

Serphimera smiled forgiveness, bit her lip, and looked beyond his head.

“Lord Dragon,” she sighed. “I think, for a long time, the dragon has been more a symbol for me than anything else. The image is familiar it has a comforting power that’s rooted in my childhood. But I’ve long since cast aside any relation between those soothing terms and the scaly monster you killed in Dragonsgate."* Pelmen stared at her, his mouth open. “And that one you serve? The Power? I serve that One, too.”

“But when—”

“When did I change?” Again Serphimera bit her lip and tried to express what she felt. “I don’t know. Not when I saw the lizard die.

Before.”

“Before! But just the other day you said ”

“Perhaps when I first saw the beast, and realized that the one I served was not there, in those huge heads. Or perhaps when I first met you on the road to Serphila, and called you a heretic while your eyes loved me.” She looked back at him. “I couldn’t admit it to myself until today. But the change has come.” She sighed and scooted toward him.

“Still, there are other changes yet to come other heartaches.” She bent forward until her forehead rested in her hands. “I know”

“And… what about us?” Pelmen whispered, longing to hear, but fearing her answer. She was silent. “Tell me what you know!” he demanded.

“I know there are things we each must do, which may at any moment part us. Can we know anything beyond that?” She stood, and started for the door. He caught her by the hand.

“We will talk again,” he said firmly.

Serphimera’s emerald eyes dazzled him. He saw a longing there, an eagerness that thrilled him. Then she blinked her lashes, and suddenly the look was gone. “Perhaps,” she said. Then she left the cell.

Erri arrived a week later to a city festooned with drapes and garlands.

With the assistance of Pelmen’s old acting companions, whom Bronwynn had appointed as heads of various cultural ministries, the Prime Minister had hurriedly organized a national festival to celebrate both the coronation and the wedding of Queen Bronwynn lan Rosha. Chaomonous, sensing the dawning of a new age, awoke into a most colorful spring, as befitted a city long known as the Golden. The whole population turned out to watch the arrival of the Prophet from the north.

If they wanted pomp, however, Erri disappointed them. He rode into town on a dark mare, flanked by Naquin, who had met him at Dragonsgate.

And while he smiled and waved as much as was necessary to keep up appearances, his mind was engaged in explaining to Naquin firsthand the role Pelmen had played in the remaking of Lamath. Erri was followed by a long column of riders gowned uniformly in pale blue, but the parade did not have the precision of a military unit. Instead, riders kept slipping off their horses and joining themselves to the cheering crowd to walk along the parade route in conversation. Toward the middle of the procession a solemn-faced contingent of riders led four wagons, each wagon carrying a blue-draped coffin. Erri was bringing the bodies of those trampled by the slavers to rest here, in the capital city of the land he’d assigned them to evangelize. It seemed fitting.

He and Naquin were laughing by the time they reached the gate of the Imperial House, and Erri’s smiles grew broader as he greeted first Bronwynn, then Rosha, and finally Pelmen with bear hugs He shared some quiet words with Serphimera, who answered him shyly, then took her hand and slipped his other arm around Pelmen’s shoulder as they turned to follow the new Queen into her palace. It was a joyful day.

Rosha’s joy was muted, however. He still hadn’t heard from Dorlyth.

Another week passed. They could wait no longer. Everything was ready in the city, and Erri needed to return home. Bronwynn and Rosha agreed, finally, that they had to go ahead. Even so, Rosha still made frequent trips to the roof, hoping for some word from Dorlyth. When it came time to clothe himself in the fancy garments Bronwynn had commissioned for this occasion, he sent Pelmen to the roof in his place.

Now Pelmen leaned against the battlements, gazing sadly out at the road that wound down from the gate into the city. In his hand he clutched a crumpled parchment sheet

This news is sad, but perhaps not unexpected, said the House.

Pelmen agreed. “I just didn’t expect the trouble to develop so quickly.”

Any power shaper skilled enough to breathe life into a castle must be a person of great ambition. And if the waking of the High Fortress of Ngandib is any indication, this Flayh you speak of will waste no time in taking what he chooses.

Pelmen opened the parchment again and reread it:

SON BLESSINGS ON YOU! WOULD COME IF I COULD, BUT FLAYH CONTROLS PAHD AND WE HAVE NEW WARS OF CONFEDERATION. MUCH LOVE DORLYTH MEL ROSHA.

The signature was significant It meant Dorlyth, father of Rosha, and was the salute a Man father gave when acknowledging his son’s manhood.

Pelmen smiled grimly at that. Dorlyth had always been the most mannerly of swordsmen.

The news was more than sad. It was threatening. Wars of confederation again. “New magic wars,” Pelmen breathed.

Indeed they are that, the House agreed. Already this House is feeling the aftershocks of the shaping taking place in the Mar.

“In what way?” Pelmen asked.

Just a warmth, at present. If the battles move into this region, the pain will become intense as you must know.

“I… apologize again for what I inflicted on you ”

It is past, if not forgotten, said the House. Your apologies all of them have been accepted. But the one you battled is most insensitive to the pain he causes his own castle. The High Fortress may be a malevolent place, and poor company, but not even it deserves such misery.

Pelmen sighed. “I can imagine how it feels ”

No, you can’t, said the House. No one can no one but this House. And you are perhaps the only one who can do anything to aid it. You, and the Power, of course.

“You believe what I’ve told you of the Power?”

No need. This House has met the Power. It is to the Power that this House withdraws.

“What do you mean?”

Before the House could answer, Pelmen was grabbed by the elbow and spun around. “You have the news?”

“Look at you!” the power shaper exclaimed, and he followed his own instructions. Rosha glistened in the light of the sun. His basic garments were shades of blue, Bron wynn’s reminder to him of their time as Pelmen’s initiates in the sky faith What sparkled was the trim. The entire costume was frosted with a glaze of diamonds set in gold. Rosha was frankly embarrassed by it.

“The news!” he begged. “A messenger told me you had some.”

Pelmen frowned and handed Rosha the parchment. Then he leaned over the battlements again as the lad read it. Rosha soon leaned on the low wall beside him, and they stood together in silence for several minutes.

“I’m sorry,” Pelmen said finally.

“He just couldn’t make it, that’s all.” Rosha shrugged. He struggled to hide his concern.

Pelmen put an arm around Rosha’s shoulder. “I know what you’re thinking, but it wouldn’t do any good. You’ve got a bride waiting for you down below and your father can take care of himself.”

“You’re going,” Rosha muttered.

“How do you know that?”

“I know you.”

“Well. We’ll talk about it. Right now Bronwynn’s waiting, and I’m sure Erri is anxious to get this ceremony out of the way.”

“Right.” Rosha nodded and started toward the gaping hole where the aviary once stood. “You coming?”

“In a bit,” Pelmen called back. Rosha nodded again and left the roof.

“Now. What were you saying?”