Robert Hughes - The Prophet of Lamath

“If only I could find some key that would tie this all together. It makes no sense to see this as just an isolated incident in the ever-continuing struggle for control of the Chaon throne.”

“What else could it be?” Dorlyth asked. “From what you’ve told me, this is how I figure it. The house of Ognadzu makes a deal with the King’s mistress to kidnap the sole heir to the throne. The King rages, sends his soldiers to recapture her but fails, eventually losing track of the girl altogether. His dynasty threatened, his potency in question, he finally divorces his now barren Queen to marry the mistress, not realizing she laid the plot. The mistress favors Ognadzu, and eventually that house becomes more influential in Chaomonous than ever. It would then recoup any losses suffered as a result of participation in the kidnap, and with interest. It’s simple. So forget it. Have a grape or something, stop making me think this early in the day.”

“That just doesn’t sound like Ognadzu. Far too risky for Flayh. What if the mistress, once on the throne, decided to bum the past, forgetting the deal with Ognadzu? What recourse would that family have?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they have something over the mistress we don’t know about. We don’t know her loyalties.”

“Yes we do,” said Pelmen, raising his eyebrows knowingly. “Ligne has powerful loyalties, but they are extremely limited—they include only herself.

Oh, I’m sure Ligne probably sees the plan just as you present it. But I can’t believe that is the total picture. I think it’s bigger than that.”

“So it’s bigger,” Dorlyth frowned. “So what? Why can’t you just let well enough alone?” Pelmen stood, tenting his fingers before his face and plucking unconsciously at his lips. He began to walk around the room, his slippered feet whispering across the rich red carpet. “It may be the move. It may be their big move, Dorlyth.”

“You’re pacing again. You wear out that rug and you’ll pay to replace it.” He jerked his cup to his mouth a little too quickly, sloshing hot liquid onto his chin. He muttered something Pelmen didn’t hear, which was really just as well.

“It would make sense,” Pelmen said. “An incident, arranged not just between one house and members of the court, but planned and executed by all the families in secrecy.”

“Sounds like a lot of trouble to me. Meetings between the houses, deals, compromises—they’d never be able to agree. And what would they have to gain?”

“Power,” Pelmen breathed.

“Dragon knows, friend, they have plenty of that already! Why should they need more?”

“Oh, they don’t need it, Dorlyth. That fact doesn’t stop their wanting more of it.”

“But why should they want it? They’ve already got the world in their shoulder bag.”

“Why do they want it? I’m a player, Dorlyth, not a philosopher. Don’t ask me about why.”

“You’re a good deal more than just a player and you know it. If I could just get you to practice some—”

“Don’t need any practice, friend. Once you learn…” Pelmen shrugged.

“You can still shape?” Dorlyth smiled, sitting up.

In answer Pelmen drew a tiny circle in the air with the thumb of his right hand, then cupped his hand under the circle.

Gradually a glow began in that circle which spread and grew until Pelmen was holding a ball of lavender flame. He glanced over at Dorlyth, who was still smiling, then with a flick of his wrist tossed the fireball at him.

Dorlyth ducked beneath his bearskin, shouting. “You crazy—” Then he popped his head back out to see if the couch was on fire.

“Relax,” Pelmen soothed, his mind already elsewhere. Dorlyth straightened his covers and glowered at his friend. The expression was wasted, for Pelmen had turned back to the window.

“Well, at least that’s something,” the hairy man said, after a moment of silence.

“A parlor trick,” Pelmen snorted.

“Which very well could have burned my parlor if you hadn’t snuffed it, which makes it a formidable weapon and a useful tool. Pelmen, why don’t you leave the rest of the world alone and concentrate on this land? I’m sure the merchant houses would be happy to be rid of your annoying presence, and we need you! The Confederation of Lords is so weak the slightest breeze could topple it. I like King Pahd as much as the next man, but I fear he intends to sleep through his entire reign! If you must get involved in politics, get involved here!”

“I am involved here, Dorlyth. Can’t you get that through your hairy hide? There are changes in the air, my friend, changes for everyone. You surely can’t believe that Ngandib-Mar will be unaffected by the bickering between Lamath and Chaomonous—”

“We’ve avoided it before.”

“We won’t this time!” Pelmen was angry. Not at Dorlyth, but at the world, and what he saw taking place in it.

The world was changing—it was always changing, naturally, but these changes were being accelerated by the plots and counterplots of nations and houses. And the chaos Pelmen saw looming on the horizon pleased him not one bit.

“A suggestion,” Dorlyth said, and Pelmen looked at him. “Don’t ask me how, or why, but I can get in contact with Admon Faye, Talith’s slaver. Let’s give him the girl to return to her father. May not stop your dread changes, but it could hold them off a little longer.” Pelmen’s eyes were hard. Dorlyth wished he hadn’t spoken. “Admon Faye? I can’t believe you said that, Dorlyth. Not you.” Dorlyth shifted uncomfortably under that cold look.

“Just a suggestion, that’s all.”

“I would not entrust anyone into the hands of Admon Faye. Not even Flayh himself.”

Pelmen jerked away, and walked to the window to sweep the curtains aside again. When he next spoke, his voice was soft once more. “Besides, my friend, the biggest change has already taken place—and for that I bear the responsibility myself.”

“The dragon?” Dorlyth asked, and Pelmen nodded.

“The dragon is of a divided mind. The world we have always known is ending.”

“How can you know that?”

“You believe in prophecy?” Pelmen inquired, raising his eyebrows.

Dorlyth snorted. “What do you think?”

“I do. This one, anyway.” Dorlyth chuckled derisively. “I guess you should, since you’re the one who made it!” Pelmen smiled sadly, then asked in a mocking voice, “Why do I waste my time with unbelievers?”

“That dragon has probably already forgotten that the whole thing even happened.”

“I don’t think so.”

Pelmen sighed, looking out across the land in the direction of Dragonsgate. “And when the word gets out in Lamath, the Dragonfaith will collapse.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.” Dorlyth chuckled, standing to walk around the chair. He laid his large hand on Pelmen’s shoulder. “From what you tell me, that’s a mighty old religion. I wager it won’t even be dented.” From the field below came the sound of chopping. Pelmen looked at Dorlyth, and the old warrior grunted. “The lad again, practicing with his greatsword. Says he wants to be a hero.” Dorlyth shook his head, and now he took his own turn at pacing around the room. “I ask him if he knows what the life expectancy of a hero is— he won’t listen to me.”

“Why should he?” Pelmen grinned, folding his arms and leaning against the window ledge. “You’re still here.”

“Only because I had the good sense to run when I got into a scrap I couldn’t win. I’m not sure he knows how to run.”

“You never ran from any battle, Dorlyth.”

“Oh yes I did! I ran from you, don’t you remember?” They both laughed, minds replaying memories of long ago. These memories led them inevitably to thoughts of ageing, and each made his way back to a chair. “That was when you dug up that ancient book. Did you ever decipher that thing?”