Robert Hughes - The Prophet of Lamath

“Your wife, my Lord?” Kherda asked, trembling within. These sudden changes! “Protocol, Joss says. He checked the records. It seems that it must always be the official Queen who names the King’s commander.”

“I thought that protocol was my domain,” Kherda said stiffly. Joss had certainly been busy. Something had to be done about that man!

“You’ve had a lot on your mind, my friend. I don’t expect you to remember everything. There, is that her?” It was indeed Latithia who made her way through the crowd. She was given a wide berth by the milling populace, for she was escorted by a troop of the King’s guard, and they were notoriously ungentle when moving people aside. The King eyed her progress distastefully. She was certainly beautiful enough, with that blondish hair and proud patrician’s chin.

But she caused so much trouble! Why did she have to argue with everything he said? “Is this grandstand ready yet?”

the King snapped at Kherda, who sighed in reply.

“It appears it must be, my Lord, since the court seems already to be assembling on it.” The exchequer gazed around him. Workmen scrambled up and down the bare beams like monkeys, unwinding golden bunting behind them as they climbed. The nobles of Chaomonous, along with .their families, were already badgering those in charge of seating arrangements. It seemed no one had been placed quite as close to the King as he thought he ought to be. Soon several families took it into their own hands simply to move themselves higher in the grandstand. The arguments grew heated, and new arguments began as more highly ranked families found their seats occupied. Kherda saw the coming chaos and knew that soon he would be called on to begin arbitration. If he were to get away for a private conference with Ligne before the parade, he would need to go now. Ligne had to know of these changes! The King exchanged icy pleasantries with his wife at the foot of the stairs, but the racket soon grew so loud he couldn’t hear himself. He glanced up angrily to see what was causing such confusion. “What’s happening?” he snarled at Kherda.

“People aren’t satisfied with the seating arrangements, my—”

“Then satisfy them!”

“But, my Lord, you agreed to the arrangement as I—”

“Then tell them to get to their proper places! Look at those crowds above us! Don’t you realize what could happen if too many people get onto the upper levels of this platform?”

“Yes, my Lord, it could fall. That is why are you trying to kill me by letting half my kingdom fall on top of me?”

“No, my Lord—”

“Then straighten out the problem!” Talith thundered. Kherda bowed slightly, then hustled up the stairway, clutching his robe to his waist to keep from tripping over it. “Now where were we?” Talith said pleasantly to his wife as he took her by the arm and led her up the stairway at a more dignified pace.

“You were telling me whom I was to name as your champion,” Ladthia answered quietly.

“Ah yes. Rolan-Keshi is my choice. Young man. Untested. But I feel he will be able to handle the task. You know the man?”

“By name only. I rarely get out anymore.” Her voice was like acid, so bitter was she. It was Talith who had confined her within the palace.

“Yes—well, he’s a very fine general—”

“I thought you were leading your army of deliverance.”

“I was, but Joss talked me out of it.”

“He did, did he? And how did he convince the enraged father to yield command of the largest rescue force in all of history to a pup?” She mocked him. Not light, friendly mocking. Latithia wanted to wound Talith if she could.

“He’s heard some rumors that certain men of my court are plotting against me. He says it wouldn’t be wise for me to leave the capital.”

“You’re sure it was men that Joss said were plotting against you?” she asked snidely.

“There it is again, your jealously—”

“My jealously!” she snapped. “Rather your blindness!”

“If you please!” he fumed.

Then he added more quietly, “We are in public.” She sealed her lips in a tight, humorless smile and smiled and nodded at subjects all the way to the uppermost platform. There Kherda awaited them, sweat dripping off his nose, the result of his hurried ascent.

“All is now in order, my Lord,” he panted. Talith said nothing, taking his seat on a portable throne placed at the very peak of the parade stand. He looked around below him, then clutched the arms of the chair tightly and swallowed. “A man could get dizzy at this height,” he observed.

“But certainly not a King,” his wife snipped as she took her seat beside him. They were flanked by liveried trumpeters; beyond the trumpeters on either end of this highest level, giant golden flags flapped noisily in the wind. The dust was boiling up thicker than ever now, as the lines of warriors began to form far below them. The crowd noise was growing more intense.

Kherda massaged aching temples and wished the day’s events were already over. He leaned over the rail and happened to see Ligne in the level below. She stared up at him with that cold, angry gaze that so terribly frightened him. Did she think it was his fault she was there and Latithia here, rather than the other way around as he had planned it? He tried to mouth an explanation to her, but she couldn’t read his lips. He could read hers, however, and he reeled away from the rail, shocked that a lady would even know such words. He looked up to see that Joss had joined them on the uppermost level and was again watching him. Kherda straightened his shoulders, fixed an official smile on his face, and walked stiffly to his appointed seat.

“When is it going to start?” Talith was shouting at him, but as Kherda opened his mouth to reply Joss interrupted him.

“While we wait, perhaps the King would like to hear some important news from the merchant of Uda. Jagd has some information that may have a great bearing on the course of the war.”

“Bring him to me,” the King growled, annoyed by the interruption but realizing the necessity of granting Jagd an audience. Joss waved his arm, and Jagd and a young man climbed to the high platform. Both men wore ceremonial gowns of the purple and red of Uda.

“My greetings, your Majesty.” Jagd bowed, then he indicated the young man with him. “This is Tahli-Damen, my Lord Talith, a merchant of my house who is showing great promise. He is the only survivor of the last caravan I sent through Dragonsgate.” Tahli-Damen smiled at the King, pride swelling through him.

“He lost an entire caravan?” Talith snorted. “Doesn’t sound very promising to me.” Tahli-Damen’s smile died, and he turned a little red. Jagd put a hand on his shoulder and said, “Nevertheless, my Lord, he is a valuable servant, to me and I think to you. He is the last man to speak with the dragon. Tell the King what you told me.” Jagd stepped away and nodded Tahli-Damen forward.

The young merchant felt light-headed. Perhaps the climb contributed, and the seeming instability of this platform, but Tahli-Damen would have attributed it to the awesome company in which he found himself. Here was Talith, believed by many to be the most powerful regent in the world! Next to him stood Queen Latithia, legendary for her beauty and her sharp tongue! And there was Kherda, and behind him Joss. On this platform stood the mightiest of Chaomonous—and he stood among them.

“Come, come, lad, I have a parade to review!” Talith snapped, and Tahli-Damen plunged into his story.

“The dragon is divided.”

“He’s what?” the King shouted, and the others on the platform responded with equal shock.

“He is divided, my Lord. The heads are at enmity with one another.”