Robert Hughes - The Prophet of Lamath

Now as he squeezed his eyes shut, that field of vision behind his eyelids, normally black or dark red, turned a hot, bright blue. The energy coursed through him so powerfully that he feared some bodily harm, yet he still clung tightly to his thoughts and focused his mind on receiving more of the signal.

“I know you say that’s impossible, Flayh, but you forget that I am in Ngandib-Mar. Things are possible here that aren’t elsewhere.” Pelmen realized there was another side to this conversation, possibly two, but he only heard the one. He held his mind in check still, waiting until the voice moved on to discuss something besides his uninvited presence. At last it did.

“I know I’m getting old,” Tohn mod Neelis was saying, “but I’m not senile. Maybe I’m just more cautious than you two.”

“I hear nothing other than you and Jagd,” Flayh snarled. “Jagd? What of you?”

“I hear nothing either. Leave it, Tohn. It’s your imagination.”

“Perhaps so. I’ve been sick this whole day, ever since your announcement that I may have Pelmen to contend with.”

“I take it you haven’t seen Pelmen?” Flayh said coldly.

“Of course I haven’t! This is a big country, dear cousin. You think I can search the breadth of it in a day?”

“You can attempt it,” Flayh snapped. “Gentlemen,” said Jagd calmly, “is it wise to waste our energies bickering when it is evident we have so much to discuss?” Flayh sat back in his chair. This registered on the pyramids of the other two by his face growing smaller. “So report, Tohn,” he grumbled, folding his arms across his chest.

“The search for Pelmen and the girl is continuing. It appears they moved south, following the foothills of the Spinal Range to the edge of the Great South Fir. There they may have turned west, or they may have moved south into the forest proper.”

“They may have?” Flayh growled. “Don’t you know?”

“Not yet, no!” Tohn thundered back, wishing the little man were really across the table from him so that he could wring his wrinkled neck. Flayh feels free to say anything he chooses, Tohn thought to himself. This distance makes him feel secure. But let him bring himself to the Mar, and Flayh will see how Maris deal with obnoxious upstarts.

“There was much traffic through the area night before last,” Tohn continued, eyes boring down into Flayh’s. “It appears every slaver along the Chaon-Mari border was in action. The paths crisscross one another in a matrix of confusion—”

“I thought your riders were competent,” Flayh sneered.

“They are competent! And we will find them!”

“Please!” Jagd yelled, losing his temper. “I’m tired of this! If you two continue this family quarrel I intend to break the link!” Flayh hid his frustration and asked coolly, “Do you think they are heading back to Chaomonous?”

“I hope so,” Tohn breathed.

“As do I,” Jagd smiled, “for I’ve laced those woods with red-and-purple riders. Pelmen will not expect trouble from the house of Uda—he may even seek help from us since he thinks his enemy is Ognadzu. Yes, I hope he is coming this direction.”

“But I doubt he will,” said Flayh. “After all, he is powerless in Chaomonous. In the Mar he’s a powershaper, with some leverage to make things happen. We tingling sensation throughout his body. It was strangely soothing, and for some reason he felt no inclination to do anything but relax and remain silent. He stood rooted where he was in the water, like the stump of an ancient swamp tree. Pelmen ducked back into his unorthodox position and struggled to regain the lost link. For some reason, Dorlyth now saw his friend’s silly contortions as the most natural sight in the forest.

“There, it happened again!” Tohn broke in. “Didn’t you feel it?”

“Feel what?” Flayh demanded.

“Yes, what?” Jagd echoed.

“Another—presence. Someone listening in on our conversation!”

“I have told you, Tohn, that is impossible!” said Flayh.

“Impossible? How could you know? How could you say what is possible or not possible with this magic device? I didn’t make it, I don’t know what its capabilities are. Can you really believe you do?” Tohn was less angry than he was frightened. He decided he didn’t like the magical instrument. It seemed to invade his most private thoughts, and to broadcast his desires. It revealed more to these other men than he chose to reveal. He preferred the old methods, the messenger birds and the fire signals. They were more polite—and more dignified.

“I know what my trading captains have told me,” Flayh was saying, “and not all are liars like my nephew. The man from whom they purchased these three objects swore to them that messages could not be intercepted. I question whether anyone is listening in, cousin Tohn. I fear you have simply developed what those hill people call a conscience. A worthless thing, Tohn, especially when you begin to listen to it. You’ve grown so isolated from the real world you’ve forgotten that conscience is a luxury we merchants cannot afford.”

“I’m tired, Flayh, and I’m not well. I will break this link now—”

“No!”

“—and I will consider your suggestion.”

“Don’t break the link, Tohn,” Flayh threatened.

“If I choose to attack Dorlyth’s castle, I will notify you by blue flyer. Good day, gentlemen.” Tohn held his head in his hands a few moments after breaking the link, then jerked around, half expecting to see someone standing behind him.

There was no one there, and he sighed, wondering if his imagination was running away from him. He stumbled out of the room and down the dark stairs, finally making his way out into the courtyard. “You,” he said to one of the young boys he found wrestling in the dirt, “go fetch the captain of my guards. Do it!” he added when the boy hesitated.

“But—he won’t listen to me. Uncle Tohn,” began the boy, whose name Tohn couldn’t remember. There were so many, how could he? “Tell him I’m angry, lad,” Tohn said. “He may not believe you, but he’ll come just in case.” The boy’s chest swelled with pride at being the one selected, and he took off. “Lad!” Tohn stopped him. “Go to my falconer too, and tell him the same thing. Run now!” The boy shot away toward the main door of the inner keep, kicking dust up behind him with every barefoot stride. The other boys stood in a silent semicircle around Tohn, watching him, wondering what he would do or say next. Tohn noticed their dirty-faced stares, and stepped out of the way. “Excuse me. Sorry to break up the game.” They continued to look at him, unsure of what he would have them do. Tohn thought for a minute, then grinned. “Anybody want to wrestle?” he asked.

When the captain of the guard arrived breathless in the courtyard, he found Tohn mod Neelis wrestling in the dust with the little boys.

Pelmen uncurled from his fetal position, and took a long, deep breath. Then he looked up at Dorlyth, and held out a hand to him, palm up. The hand glowed again briefly, and Dorlyth experienced another weird sensation—as if moss were falling from his body.

He blinked twice, sighed, and muttered, “My boots are soaked.” Pelmen ignored his scolding tone. “So are mine. Shall we go change them?” The two retraced their steps through the stream, then stepped out onto dry land, their boots squishing in unison.

“Would it be nosy for me to ask what you were doing back there with your tail in the air?” Dorlyth rumbled.

“I was listening,” Pelmen replied.

“To the grass growing? To an army of ants?”

“To a powerful conversation between our enemies.” Dorlyth frowned.

“How did you manage that?”