Robert Hughes - The Prophet of Lamath

“What is it you want me to teach—” Pelmen began, but Dorlyth raised a hand to stop him.

“Let him travel with you, Pelmen. That’s all the teaching I ask you to give.” Dorlyth jumped to his feet. “If you’re leaving early we’d best get to business. I believe you promised me a game before you left?” Pelmen stood slowly and looked around the hall. It was a relaxed group of guards and freemen who conversed in the warmth of their Lord’s hospitality. He longed for the freedom to linger. Well, he would enjoy the evening, at least. “If you’re so anxious to be beaten again, let’s get to it.” Once again the council chamber of the King of Chaomonous was filled with the coughing and shuffling of a crowd of advisors. Few were ever asked for advice—none dared to volunteer any. But the King was no less a player than Pelmen, and he enjoyed his sizable captive audience. It meant that Talith kept few secrets, but the King seemed to accept that as a part of the natural order. Of course, others knew everything he said and did. He was the King; they were supposed to know. It rarely crossed his mind that this lack of secrecy could prove dangerous to him. Yet perhaps Talith was not as foolish as some believed him, for he realized his enemies would always be able to ferret out his secrets, whatever he did. Why shouldn’t his loyal advisors know them as well? Kherda, exchequer of the royal treasury, nervously watched as Talith paced the dais. Perhaps the King could afford to share his secrets, but Kherda could not. To be caught in conspiracy with the King’s mistress would cost him his head. If the King should discover he had aided in the kidnap of Bronwynn-Kherda hated to imagine the torments Talith might invent for him.

And Kherda genuinely expected to be discovered any day. He could not escape the conviction that Ligne was just using him, and that soon she would discard him as being of no further value to her. Yet each time he was with the woman he found himself agreeing to yet another ridiculously dangerous assignment, simply to win a smile from those lips. And if Kherda feared her turning on him, he feared more the result of failing her. At times like this Kherda wished he had just stayed in his vaults with the money.

He clenched his notes with both hands, trying to draw some security from them. They had been prepared long in advance—notes regarding the expenses involved in mobilizing a mighty nation for war. His figures told how many warriors could be drawn from each province within the nation, and how many could be impressed into service from the conquered lands to the south. They told what available ships of the merchant fleets could be quickly transformed into troop carriers. They listed foodstuffs available to feed an army, and the arms on hand to equip it for battle. Kherda had even taken the liberty of suggesting a possible strategy for invading Lamath, though he hadn’t a hope that the King would really consider it. Kherda had taken great pains to plan an invasion that would insure the maximum loss of Chaon men and equipment.

For what was really of most importance to Kherda was not this set of notes he clutched so tightly, but that other set of notes, hidden safely within the King’s own treasure house, that plotted the overthrow of Talith’s government. While the King fought a wasteful war with Lamath, a small army organized by Kherda under Ligne’s prodding would march into Chaomonous and assume control. Ligne would open the palace to this conquering troop, and with little or no bloodshed at all Kherda would rule the mightiest nation in the world! Gradually then he would begin to shut off the supplies flowing north. By the time Talith realized the trick, his army would be so overextended and undersupplied he would never be able to recover. Kherda expected him to lay siege to the city, but by that time the capital would be so well stocked and so well defended Talith would never recapture it. Then, of course, there was Ligne’s assassin. When the time came, Talith would be cut down.

Kherda didn’t know himself who this assassin was—Ligne had chosen not to share that information with him. As a result, he feared everyone. Should Ligne choose to get rid of him, now that the plan was so neatly laid, the knife could come at him from any direction.

Kherda saw Joss watching him from across the room. Since the night of Bronwynn’s kidnap the Chief of Security had been eyeing him that way. He struggled to wipe the anxious look from his face, and slowly placed his notes on the lectern in front of him. Did Joss read thoughts? He decided to clear his mind completely of plans for the coup. Perhaps he would survive all this.

“Then you’ve learned nothing!” the King was screaming. This was directed to his Lord. of the Dungeon, a large, slow-moving fellow who hid a razor-keen mind under a facade of oafishness.

“No, Sire, not a thing. I’m sorry. Sire.”

“Sorry!” the King exploded, and the heavy-built warden took a step back and held up his hands.

“They all claim they knew nothing of the kidnap until after it occurred. Said they’d been kept completely in the dark by other members of their family. Isn’t that what they told you. Joss?” He turned his head toward the General, directing the King’s eyes there as well. It pained Joss to see how successfully the warder had shifted the responsibility.

“Well, Joss?” the King snapped.

“That’s what each has said. And I begin to believe them.”

“What?”

“They all hold to their story with great integrity, even in the face of torture. I must believe they are telling the truth, for some would gladly have confessed, had they known anything to tell. None has revealed any knowledge whatsoever of the events surrounding the kidnap.”

“It’s that family pride, that clan unity!” the King raged, pacing the dais.

“Perhaps—but I doubt it,” Joss said firmly. The King rewarded him with a scathing stare, but Joss went on. “They claim to have been betrayed by their elder in Lamath. It seems there is some factionalism even in the trading houses.”

“If that were so, who took my daughter?” Before Joss could reply, the King answered himself with a flourish of his hand.

“I know! I know what you’ll say. That somewhere in this assembly of advisors there lurks a traitor.” Joss sighed quietly as Talith gestured over the heads of the rows of counselors. The King pointed one out. “Does that look like the face of a turncoat?” The man who owned the face in question sought to look as decent and innocent as possible.

“Does that?” Talith pointed to another. “Does this?” The King had gripped Kherda’s chin and now squeezed his cheeks, and Kherda felt very faint. Joss half smiled at Kherda’s discomfort, but remained attentive to the King. “These are my people, Joss,” the King said grandly, loosing Kherda, who promptly melted over the lectern as Talith turned away. “I trust them. They are privy to every decision I make.” Suddenly Talith’s expression turned black. “So don’t even imply conspiracy, unless you have specific accusations to make!” Joss nodded curtly and replied, “I have none at this time, my Lord. I will continue to seek the information you desire.”

“Do that. And increase your surveillance along our borders with Lamath. I want to know their army better than their generals do!”

“You’re planning war?”

Kherda asked quietly. “I’m always planning war, you stupid banker! I want to see Jagd!”

“He waits outside—” Kherda began.

“I know he waits outside,” the King snapped. “I sent for him myself! Do you think I don’t know what’s going on in my own palace?” Kherda turned very pale.

“Jagd!” The doors flew open, and the guard began, “Jagd of Uda, to see—”