Robert Hughes - The Prophet of Lamath

“No!” he yelled, batting the falcon away and diving for the knife himself. But Rosha’s hands were already free, and the raider’s face met the lad’s balled-up fist in midair. He dropped to the floor, dazed, as Rosha leapt to his feet, his hands closing tightly around the end of the man’s staff. The slaver stood, but only for a moment. Using it as he would a greatsword, Rosha thrust the end of the staff into the man’s belly, driving him up against the cave wall and doubling him over. With three quick cracks of the wood on the man’s head and shoulders, Rosha reduced him to an unconscious, bleeding pile on the needles and the dust. The other slaves, Bronwynn discovered, were not dead, for they yelled their encouragement and danced in a frenzy of excitement along the opposite wall. Rosha wore that same calm gaze in his eyes—he expressed his rage and vengeance with his arms, not his face. Stroke after stroke rose and fell, and he would have killed the man had not a strange thing taken place. The falcon flew up into his face; using its wings alone, it beat Rosha away from the man. Suddenly the bird dropped to the floor and walked away, and Bronwynn saw that Rosha’s face was changed. He gazed about in shock mixed with triumph, and he looked no more at the unconscious slaver, but rather at the ragged band of slaves clustered at the far end of the cavern. He dropped the staff and picked up the knife, then motioned them by him, cutting the bonds of each as he passed. They ducked on out of the cave as soon as they were free, and Bronwynn could hear their whoops of joy coming from outside. Rosha retrieved his mail shirt and started to put the knife in his belt.

“Aren’t you forgetting someone?” Bronwynn asked. He turned and looked at her, blushing, and immediately cut her bonds. Then he took some scraps of the rope and went to truss the unconscious slaver. Bronwynn reached for the falcon, but it walked away from her. “I knew I could do it, Sharki,” she said as she followed the bird and tried again to pick it up. Once more it walked out of reach. “What’s wrong with you? Come here.” But the bird was walking out of the cave, and she had to duck to follow him out. “I knew I had the ability, I just didn’t know how to focus it,” she said, shuffling down the rock corridor. Then she chuckled. “I’m so glad I brought you along! And after Pelmen said…”

“I said what?” asked the magician, who was suddenly standing before her. She was so surprised that she bumped her head on the opening of the cave. Rosha cackled behind her and reached out to rub her head. She blocked the sun out of her eyes and looked around for her falcon. “Where’s Sharki?” she asked.

A grin danced across Pelmen’s face and then was gone. “I sent him home,” he said seriously. “He’ll be happiest back there with Dorlyth.”

“No, I want him here!” she cried, shielding her eyes and searching the sky for some sight of beating wings. How had he flown away so fast? It wasn’t until she caught the look Pelmen and Rosha exchanged behind her back that she realized. The falcon in the cave hadn’t been Sharki. It hadn’t been a falcon at all.

There was a mammoth stretch of flatland north of Chaomonous. In years long past it had been a parade ground for mighty armies, a staging area for great invasions to the north and south and west. In the time since it had been divided and subdivided, and parcels had been owned by many different landlords. But the ground had proved singularly infertile, and squatters had finally taken it over, erecting squalid little hovels within easy walking distance of the grand avenues of Chaomonous. But now, suddenly, the hovels were gone. The great field had been swept clean of its ramshackle huts, and hordes of displaced refugees now watched in dismay as their homeplace was renewed again to its glorious position as the mustering field of the Golden Kingdom. In place of the crooked rows of narrow streets, there now stood straight lines of stiff new tents. Powerful men rehearsed the arts of war where gangs of happy children had run and played only days before. One thing remained the same. The dust still hung in a thick cloud over the plain, choking everyone who breathed it.

Kherda was proud of his accomplishment, and felt justified in his pride. As a squatter township, the field had been an eyesore. As a parade ground, it was soulstirring. But for the dust, of course. Everywhere he looked, golden pennants fluttered on the small breeze.

The sight filled him with patriotic fervor. He had to remind himself that he was plotting the destruction of this very army. Guilt was his frequent companion these days, and it rejoined him now for another round. “But I’m doing it for Chaomonous,” he lied to himself, and his guilt left him again. Kherda was becoming a splendid liar.

“What a sight! What a magnificent sight!” the King gloated from behind him, and Kherda very nearly jumped the railing. It would have been his death if he had, for they stood on the highest level of a reviewing stand, two hundred feet above the ground.

“My Lord, I wasn’t expecting you so soon! The platform isn’t even completed yet, and the ceremony doesn’t begin until noon!”

“I couldn’t wait,” Talith chuckled, striding to the railing to look down. The scaffolding was built like a staircase. The lowest levels extended well out into the field. “Those below us will be able to see me?”

“Certainly, my Lord. Please, step away from the edge. It may not be secure yet!” Talith turned to Kherda and grinned widely. “You, Kherda. You are too loyal to be suspect.”

“Suspect, my Lord?” Kherda gasped.

“Yes, yes. Joss has me believing all manner of strange things. He wants me to think that everyone is out to overthrow me and take my crown. He even suspects you.”

“Me, my Lord?” Kherda stammered. He managed a weak smile.

“Yes! But if you were out to murder me, what better way than by pushing me off of a faulty scaffold?” Was the King teasing him? Had Talith uncovered the plot? “I… I don’t know, my Lord—”

“Of course you don’t, Kherda. You don’t think in those terms. Joss does—but of course that’s why I need him. I cannot be too careful these days. After all, someone did steal my daughter.”

“Yes, my Lord…”

“That’s why I’m not going to lead the army myself.”

“You’re not going to—” Kherda stammered. “No, Joss says it would be too dangerous. So when is this platform to be finished, hunh? The parade is in less than an hour!”

“Yes, my Lord, I have all the workmen I could gather busy—”

“Very good, I don’t need the details. But they will be able to see me, won’t they? My people?”

“Everyone, my Lord,” Kherda said absently, hiding his panic. The King was not going to lead the army! The plan was in shambles! “How do I get down off of this thing?” the King was muttering, and Kherda led him toward the steps. As he escorted his monarch down the bare wooden staircase, he was wondering how to get loose from Talith—he had to get to Ligne with this news. But the King was not about to let him go. “How many warriors have we assembled?”

“Ah, thirty-seven thousands, my Lord, with more arriving every hour and many thousands still days away—”

“And by the end of the week?”

“I expect, ah, seventy-five thousands, my Lord—”

“Wonderful! And ships, how many ships?”

“Ah, I believe my Lord will remember I said some fifty-two ships will be sailing under the golden flag of—”

“Will that be enough?”

“If you mean to carry the entire army, no, my—”

“I mean to defeat the Lamathian fleet!” Talith yelled.

“Why, yes, my Lord, I believe it should be—”

“Good. Now where’s that wife of mine?” Talith was craning his head in all directions, seeking Latithia in the midst of the already gathering crowd below.