Robert Hughes - The Prophet of Lamath

“What about my falcon?” Bronwynn asked Pelmen, and Dorlyth welcomed the chance to interrupt.

“It’s on its way, my Lady. I already gave the order to bring it.”

“Dorlyth, a falcon?” Pelmen complained. “This is no meadow outing!”

“This is no foolish bird, either! It’s a hunting falcon, and you’re going to take it,” Dorlyth said, and Bronwynn smiled gleefully. Pelmen said nothing, but mounted Minaliss. The falconer finally arrived, out of breath, and handed the leather glove and the falconet to a delighted Bronwynn.

“Just remember, my Lady, we’ll be riding very hard for the next two weeks,” Pelmen said.

“I can ride with the best in Chaomonous,” Bronwynn snapped back. “I can surely ride with you two.” She mounted her brown pony and tossed her head proudly, then kissed the hooded bird. “I thought you were in a hurry?” she snapped tartly. Wheeling her mount, she made swiftly for the stable door. Pelmen jerked around to follow her.

“You see why I’m sending the boy?” Dorlyth called as Pelmen and Rosha thundered after her and out into the dark sky of the early morning. “She’s too much for you, powershaper!” Rosha smiled through the tears that had somehow crept onto his cheeks. He liked the feeling of his father’s laugh following them into the night.

Dorlyth walked to the stable door and watched the little group disappear toward the south. Pelmen would continue southward to the nearest stream, then would follow the path of the water to the west and turn north once again. He would probably leave a number of confusions to divert Tohn. It was a pity to waste all that good magic. But it couldn’t be helped. Tohn would never have the chance to be fooled by those illusions, if Dorlyth had his way.

“What of the fire summons?” he said quietly to the falconer who flanked him.

“Issued it last night from the greater tower, while you were at game.” Dorlyth winced. “It was a sacrifice, believe me.”

“Did he beat you badly?” The bird handler chuckled.

“Have you ever known me to win? But it will be worth it—if I can give them a good start. The warriors should be assembling by noon. What of provisions?”

“We’re not at siege standards by any means,” the falconer answered grimly. “But we could handle a hundred warriors for a week if the seneschal has figured correctly.”

“That should be enough.” Dorlyth nodded. “And the blue flyer to the High City?”

“I tossed the bird before lighting the signal fire. It should arrive in the high palace of Ngandib in an hour, depending on wind conditions.”

“So if that sloth on the throne chooses to read his mail today, he’ll get my message.”

“He should, my Lord.” Dorlyth sighed. “One can always hope.”

He patted the falconer on the shoulder and turned to walk toward the keep. “By the way,” he said, hesitating, “would you check around in the armory and find me an old leather battle jacket? Just in case Tohn should get aggressive, you understand.”

“What of your famous mail shirt, my Lord?” the bird handler asked in surprise.

Dorlyth scratched his neck. “I guess I just outgrew it.”

“Is that it? Or did someone else grow into it?” Dorlyth smiled.

“Are there no secrets in my keep? Come, there’s much to do, and too little time to do it.” The falconer closed the stable gate, and they planned defenses all the way to the greater tower.

* * * The dust hung motionless in the fetid depths of the cave. The dragon brooded in silence. The heads had never been able to agree on anything. Their bickering had finally worn them both out. Now the dragon fixed all eyes on the long road down into the southern valley, waiting for a caravan he knew was coming. He was hungry and hostile, and each head used the quiet to revile the other mentally.

An eternity passed in that murky den. The only noise was an occasional scrape of scales across stone as a head shifted position, or a low rumbling in the beast’s giant belly, which impatiently awaited a meal. The entrance to the cavern was fifty feet up the sheer northern cliff face. By simply resting his heads on the rocky ledge that protruded porchlike from the opening, the dragon could see in any direction. He had spent many happy hours sunning his scaly skulls on this bone-littered shelf. That joy seemed dreamlike to the giant lizard now.

There. Movement far below him drew the attention of all eyes. Not a word was spoken between them, but the heads cooperated in squeezing the hulking body out of the mouth of the cave and lifting it gently into flight. The dragon settled to earth just as quietly. It took the better part of two hours for the caravan to reach him. Neither head spoke through the duration of its climb.

At the head of the caravan rode a young man clothed in the brilliant scarlet and dark purple of the world famous house of Uda. He was an experienced trading captain, having passed Dragonsgate twenty times and more, but not since his first passage had Tahli-Damen approached the beast with such trepidation. Jagd had informed him of the possibility of his meeting a mentally unbalanced dragon this trip. Since the dragon had never exhibited a great deal of coherence by human standards, Tahli-Damen expected the worst. There was a blue flyer seated on his shoulder, bound to him by a leather thong he had tied securely around his wrist. From one of the bird’s feet dangled a tiny parchment on a string. In addition to the reins of his horse, Tahli-Damen clutched a stylus, for he had instructions to scribble a message describing the dragon’s behavior on the parchment and to release the bird as soon as he had completed his bargaining.

It all seemed highly unusual, but he had been forced to admit that these were unusual times. He often despaired of ever attaining the high position he dreamed of. If only the world would stand still a day or two! All he wanted was his chance to make it! His eyes were not good, so Tahli-Damen leaned forward, straining to see some expression on the dragon’s faces. The beast seemed less playful than usual—more solemn. Vicia-Heinox appeared rooted in one spot, looking like one of the statues of himself that lined the boulevards of Lamath. As they climbed the last few hundred feet they were delayed by the normal number of fainting slaves. Since he was headed for Lamath, Tahli-Damen carried mostly Maris today. He preferred the runs to Ngandib-Mar. The country was nicer, and the Lamathian slaves carried on such trips were generally more relaxed at the sight of the beast and less resistant to being eaten. It had something to do with their religion. Some seemed even to appreciate Tahli-Damen’s feeding them to the dragon—which did nothing to discourage the general opinion of all the merchant houses that Lamathians were a race of lunatics.

Now he heard a low growl emanating from the beast, and his heart fluttered uncharacteristically. Tahli-Damen had never heard Vicia-Heinox growl thus before. It was most unsettling. He suppressed his feelings, straightened himself in the saddle, and led his column to within twenty feet of those four gleaming eyes.

“Far enough,” Vicia warned.

Tahli-Damen stopped his horse dead with a jerk on the reins. “Your Dragonship,” he began, “I have brought you—”

“I can see,” Heinox snarled, cutting him off. Vicia swiveled slowly to eye his twin, and Tahli-Damen wished he had been more attentive while learning the subtleties of dragon expressions. It seemed incredible, but was that a look of hatred the heads had just exchanged? “I offer you the standard contract—” he began again.

Heinox interrupted. “No contract.”

“Of course a contract!” Vicia snapped. “Am I trying to destroy all my relationships?”

“I am trying to establish new relationships—ones not subject to interference from any other head that might possibly occupy this body!” Heinox growled back.