Robert Hughes - The Prophet of Lamath

“If Pelmen is free, he is probably in Ngandib-Mar. And if Pelmen is there,” Jagd muttered the words that all three acknowledged as simple truth, “he is Pelmen the powershaper.”

“And our plan,” Tohn finished for him, “is in terrible jeopardy.” Tohn was holding his head, for it was threatening to split in half from the inside. They had held the link too long. He knew that when they broke it, he would have to be sick.

“We shall see, then, what we shall see,” Flayh muttered. “The link is breathing. We know our responsibilities. Until tomorrow at—” Tohn broke the link, and rolled out of his seat to fall heavily onto the stone floor. It was several hours before he was able to stand. With what shallow breath remained to him, he committed every possible rider to the search, then lay back in his bed to await the news. That feeling of dread never left him. Indeed, it grew stronger by the hour.

It seemed to Bronwynn that the ride would never end. She clung to Pelmen, her arms locked around his chest, her head braced against his back, and fought to stay awake. It became more and more obvious to her that this man she rode behind was more than just a traveling player. But what? What was he, that he knew so well the valleys and forests of Ngandib-Mar? He seemed to be able to sense the presence of other riders, for three different times during the night he had slowed their horse and hidden them in the thickets or the rocks or the fields as silent troops of grim-faced raiders slipped stealthily through the darkness. He would turn in the saddle to hold Bronwynn’s head close to his chest, gently covering her mouth and keeping her quiet until the danger had passed. Each time, as they continued on, Bronwynn would wonder aloud of the race and destination of the raiders, and Pelmen would cheerfully tell her.

“How can you know so much about them?” she asked, as the black sky behind them began to turn purple in preparation for the coming dawn.

“I have had my share of dealings with slave raiders,” he answered. He seemed unwilling to go on.

Bronwynn leaned up to speak in his ear, to make herself heard above the noise of hoofs beating the ground. “Are you one?” she asked. She felt Pelmen jerk in surprise at her question; then a chuckle rumbled through him that she, clinging so closely, felt all the way through her body too.

“No, my Lady. Not I. But I have traveled with them—traded with them—been traded by them—”

“You’d been a slave before my father sold you to Pezi?”

“Yes, my Lady,” he rumbled, for she heard his words less from his mouth than from the echo through his chest. “Several times, in fact.”

“What is it like?” She had often wondered, but had never asked even one of the many women who attended her. It was not proper for a Princess of Chaomonous to concern herself with such trivia as the personal lives of her slave women.

“It is like bondage of any sort,” Pelmen said, turning their horse in another of his sudden, mysterious changes of direction that always seemed to help them avoid meeting other riders. “It stops you from being yourself and forces you to be something quite different.”

“Sounds terrible.”

“Not always,” Pelmen continued, and that surprised her. “Oh, the capture and enslavement is of course no fun. A slave raider is a land pirate, with no regard for the goals and sufferings of others. People aren’t people to him, they are potential merchandise. Its hard to be friends with merchandise.” Bronwynn thought of her own relationship to her servants, but said nothing. “As to the bondage itself, I discovered it can be instructive. Of this you may be sure, my Lady Bronwynn. The slaves know much more about the workings of the castle than the Lord and Lady do, for they give it their undivided attention.”

“But to be caged, bound—” Bronwynn felt again those impossible ropes that just yesterday had gripped her wrists and ankles. “How can that ever be good?”

“It can make you appreciate freedom, Bronwynn. That’s something that royalty sometimes is never able to do. Hush now.” He guided the horse toward some large bushes. They ducked together as their mount moved into the cover, pushing branches aside, cracking some, others whooshing back into place as they passed.

Pelmen stopped the horse, and they waited again.

The sky was a dark blue, but was growing lighter much more quickly now. Bronwynn listened intently, her eyes squeezed shut as if that would help her hearing. All she heard at first was the beating of Pelmen’s heart, and the heavy breathing of the tired horse. But then the sound came. Riders, still some distance away but quickly coming toward them. She felt herself begin to tremble quite involuntarily, and Pelmen turned again to hold her head against him. The sound grew louder and then there they were—a troop of riders clothed in their nighttime camouflage uniforms of gray and brown. Their leader was the ugliest man Bronwynn had ever seen. His eyes were small slits, and his face was furrowed with a frown so chilling that it forced its reflection on the faces of all who beheld him. Though the early-morning air was cold, Bronwynn shivered not at the chill, but at the sight of that face. Then they were gone, moving swiftly to the south, riding hard into the cover of the Great South Fir.

“They’re late,” Pelmen observed quietly after they were well past.

“Who was that?” Bronwynn shuddered. Pelmen craned around to look her in the face, a caustic smile playing around the edges of his mouth.

“You don’t know?” he asked. She looked back at him blankly. “It’s Admon Faye—your father’s personal recruiter of domestic talent.” He spoke to the horse, and they were once again on the way. It took a moment for Bronwynn to make sense of his statement.

“That man is my father’s slave master?”

“I’m not surprised that you’ve never seen him. He and your father both make every effort to keep their professional relationship secret.” They rode on some way before either spoke again.

Bronwynn imagined being captured by this frowning slaver, and tried to relate that vision to the girls who served her.

Every one of her attendants had experienced that, she thought to herself. No wonder there was such a bond of loyalty among them, a bond that sometimes made her feel shut out, even though she was the Princess and they were her slaves.

“Remember,” Pelmen said suddenly, “slaves aren’t the only people who are in bondage.” Bronwynn sat up in the saddle, surprised. She waited, but he said no more.

They pressed on, as the dawn turned into morning. They saw no more bands of raiders, but Pelmen warned that their biggest danger now was a chance meeting with riders of Ognadzu. Bronwynn dozed, and at one point nearly fell from the horse. Pelmen stopped then, and tied her to his back with strips of cloth from the horse’s silken colors. It was perhaps an undignified way for a Princess to travel, but Bronwynn was too sleepy to .protest.

Between naps, the girl studied the passing countryside. Each hill they topped opened another valley to view, and another hill beyond. It would have been beautiful country in any other circumstance, but Bronwynn was tired of it. She longed for her own bed, and dreamed of it, waking suddenly to find herself still tied to the back of this curious stranger who seemed to know so much about everything. She felt him bend forward, and heard him talking; but though she strained to hear, she couldn’t make out any of his words. It puzzled her, until she felt the horse surge forward with renewed energy, and she realized he had been speaking to it. For the first time it occurred to her how far and how fast their mount had come with so little rest. She had often bragged to the children of other noble families that the stables of the King bred the finest horseflesh in the world. The suspicion grew in her that the merchants in fact bred the best.