Robert Hughes - The Prophet of Lamath

“I know all that! Let him in!” The guard’s spear clattered to the floor, and he scrambled to pick it up while Jagd brushed past him. “There you are, my friend.”

The King smiled, and he seated himself on the throne that crowned the platform. “Sit here, and tell me the news.” Jagd sat in the chair to the King’s right, and began to speak quietly to him. Kherda leaned forward to hear. “My Lord, the news is serious.”

“Bronwynn?” the King yelped anxiously. “No, my Lord,” Jagd said quickly. “I know nothing at all of that situation. I have a caravan passing Dragonsgate tomorrow carrying messages of inquiry to my colleagues there.

Of course we have exchanged messenger birds, but it is difficult to tie a large document to the leg of a little blue flyer.

All I know is that Pezi’s column arrived safely at Ognadzu holdings in Lamath, and that he immediately left for the capital. I assume the girl was with him.” Jagd watched the King’s face for Talith’s reaction. It was slight, but significant.

There was a clenching of the jaw, and Talith’s right hand formed a fist. Jagd went on. “The troubling news is this. My fellows have observed great troop movements in Lamath. There are growing concentrations of warriors along Lamath’s southern border.” Joss looked sharply at the wrinkled little merchant, while Talith looked just as sharply at Joss.

“Why haven’t I been told of this?” the King roared. “Because I knew nothing of it,” Joss responded.

“Nor am I sure I believe it!”

“Gentlemen,” Jagd said quietly, “please let me explain. These are very late troop movements, and the news has only this afternoon come to me. As you know, we merchants are often able to see and hear things government agencies have no way of discovering.” Talith and Joss both resented this dig so characteristic of a merchant, but they knew, too, that it was true. Neither replied.

“It is to your advantage that I feel your cause so strongly,” Jagd continued. “When you are backed by a merchant house, your intelligence problems are cared for. All that remains is the organization of fleets and battalions.”

“I take it, then, that you counsel war,” Talith said quietly.

“What other course is there?” Jagd asked. Kherda’s heart leapt into his throat. This merchant was playing right into his hands. Unless of course Ligne had already— “And my little girl? What of her?” Talith growled.

Jagd shrank down in his chair and shrugged helplessly. “I’ll do all I can. But don’t you see that Lamath is simply baiting you by stealing your daughter? They obviously feel themselves strong enough to conquer you, or they would not have troubled with so careful a plot.”

“Lamath!” Talith shouted, and on his lips the word became a curse. He stood and paced a moment, then pointed at Jagd. “It’s that Pelmen who has planned this! He’s an agent of Lamath, I know he is!” Jagd’s eyes glowed. Obviously Talith hated the player. Perhaps Pelmen’s interference could somehow be turned to an advantage. “I do know this,” Jagd intoned quietly. “When Pezi reached his uncle’s house in Lamath-Pelmen was no longer with him.”

“That’s it! He is masterminding this whole plot against me! Why, even now he is probably moving brigades into position for a mountain invasion! Kherda!”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“I want a list of every available militia unit we can bring under arms! I want every merchant vessel outfitted with battle rams and grappling hooks, with crews of trained marines posted to each! I want supplies to feed, clothe, and arm the greatest fighting force to march since the days of the last great rebellion!” The audience of counselors leaned forward in their seats to watch the climax of the King’s speech, and Talith rewarded them with a worthy performance. Legs spread wide in a wrestler’s stance, he raised a fist to the ceiling and followed it with his eyes. “I am a man of peace. But the throne of Chaomonous is a sacred trust, and an heir to that throne is the spirit of the golden land itself! Shall I stand idly by while the spirit of my nation is stolen away in the night? No! Let Lamath throw its best at me, I will have my Bronwynn back! To war! Any man who pleads for peace is no Chaon!” The audience burst into wild applause, and the King nodded his head slightly to show his appreciation of their support.

Kherda gathered his papers together and spread them on the lectern for the sixth time. His relief knew no bounds.

Pelmen patted the powerful flanks of Minaliss and rubbed the animal’s ears. “Seems rested enough,” he said.

Dorlyth grunted. “Good horse. Merchants usually ride the best. You have provisions enough?” Pelmen looked at the packhorse, heavy-laden with food and goods, and grinned. “No room to carry anything else.” Dorlyth waved his hand, dismissing this contribution.

“Just want you to be prepared.” Pelmen reached out and put a hand on each of Dorlyth’s shoulders. “You’ll do as I’ve asked?”

“Let me see. I’m to go on about my business until Tohn arrives. When he comes I welcome him like an old friend and let him inspect the keep, the village, and the entire surrounding area. I delay him by making him stay for a feast and then I point him toward the south.”

“What I’m asking is, will you do it?”

“Of course,” Dorlyth said, smiling.

“You don’t think I want to get involved in this business, do you?”

“Just see that you don’t.”

“And as for my son—”

Dorlyth hesitated.

“Yes?”

“Just teach him—anything. Tell him your funny tales about the foundation of the kingdoms.”

“You always laugh when I speak of that,” Pelmen smiled.

“So will he, if he has any sense. But tell him all the same.”

“T-t-tell me what?” Rosha asked, coming up behind them.

Dorlyth turned around to get a good look at the boy. He was dressed warmly against the chill of the morning in a fur cap and warm bearskin coat. He carried the ever-present greatsword over his shoulder. Dorlyth clapped him on the arms, and forced a grin. “What’s in here?” he asked, thumping his son’s chest.

“The c-ch-chain mail vest, and it’s h-h-hot!”

“You wear it to bed, boy!” Dorlyth ordered.

“You gave him your vest?” Pelmen asked.

“Why should I need it?” Dorlyth shrugged. “I’m to invite my enemies to a feast, remember? Ahhh!” he smiled, looking past the other two. “The lady.”

“I don’t look much like a lady,” Bronwynn growled through teeth clenched against the cold. “And I don’t feel much like a lady, either. It’s still dark outside. Why are we leaving now?”

“For just that reason,”

Pelmen said. “Here, a gift from Dorlyth.” Pelmen wrapped a furry cloak around the shivering girl’s shoulders.

“Thank you, Lord Dorlyth,” she said sweetly. “It’s refreshing to find that someone in this land knows how to make a lady feel respected.” Dorlyth noted the sharp look she shot at Pelmen, and looked away, scratching his beard. “Yes, well, marriage does teach some things. Rosha.”

“Y-y-yes, sir?”

“You ready, my boy?” Rosha nodded. Dorlyth felt his mouth suddenly go very dry, and under his beard his cheeks began to warm. “Good. Be off with you then.” Rosha waited a moment, then turned to mount his horse. “I’ll give you a hand; boy,” Dorlyth said quietly, stooping to grab hold of the lad’s boot, but he grabbed Rosha instead, and hugged him hard. Though he fought to blank his mind, he could not help but remember sending Rosha’s mother off so many years before. He jerked his son around to face him and stared into his eyes. “You survive, you hear me? What good is a dead hero, hmm?” Rosha stared at him, then the boy’s lips turned up in a grin that Dorlyth’s face answered with another. “Good riding, my boy. Come back.” Dorlyth clapped Rosha on the shoulders again, and stepped out of the way. “Well, go on!” he grunted, and Rosha mounted his sleek black war-horse.