Robert Hughes - The Prophet of Lamath

“Thanks a lot!” the girl whispered fiercely. Pelmen squeezed her tight and leaned down to her ear. “Try to be quiet and I may be able to extract us from this.” She stopped her struggling, and listened.

“A companion. I could do that,” Heinox said.

“If I knew what a companion is,” Vicia added.

“A companion is someone you spend your time with, talk to, learn from. A companion can be a friend.” Pelmen noticed Bronwynn was gripping her ears and scowling at this.

“A friend?” Vicia said. “But I don’t need a friend. I have… myself.” And that gave Pelmen an idea.

“Ah. I understand.” He indicated Vicia. “You have him.” He indicated Heinox. “And he has you. And you are friends.”

Vicia-Heinox looked at himself, then both of his heads looked at Pelmen. “What?” the dragon asked. “I have myself and I have myself?”

“Not quite the idea,” Pelmen went on quietly. “I mean you have each other.”

“Each other?” Vicia asked. “He isn’t another, he is I. I think,” he added.

“He who?” Pelmen asked.

“Him,” Vicia growled, growing irritated at the player’s badgering tone. Then Vicia stopped. He looked at Heinox.

Heinox was already looking at Vicia. “Him?” Heinox muttered. The group of people below kept very quiet.

“I think I need to reason this out—” Vicia began, and Heinox said, “I think so too.” The dragon looked at himself in great confusion.

Pelmen bent to whisper again in Bronwynn’s ear. “You see the plateau at the high point of the pass?” She nodded.

“When I shout, make for that plateau, and then run to your left.”

“But that’s Ngandib-Mar!” she protested.

“Chaomonous is behind us—”

“When the confusion begins, make for Ngandib-Mar,” he repeated strongly. He began to plot the quickest route to Pezi’s horse.

“I just said I need to reason this out,” Vicia repeated.

“I did too,” said Heinox.

“Yes, but—”

“But what?”

“But I already said that!” Vicia growled.

“I know!” Heinox growled back.

“I know I know! I said I knew!” Vicia growled again, more loudly this time.

“I know I said I knew! I said I said I knew!” Heinox trumpeted back.

“I know!” screeched Vicia.

“Now!” grunted Pelmen, and Bronwynn scrambled up the divide as quickly as her legs and gowns would allow her.

Pelmen drove toward Pezi’s horse. The other slaves, still chained together, began to run this way and that, pulling each other backward and forward in a deadly serious game of whiplash, a centipede of people trying desperately to get coordinated. Pezi, seeing Pelmen grab the reins of his mount, hustled down the slope to jerk up the reins of the fallen rider’s horse, which whinnied and backed away from this heavyweight who was trying to mount it. The fallen rider, who was just coming to, surveyed the chaos around him and decided he had been better off unconscious. He fainted once again.

And high in the sky, a curious thing was taking place. Vicia-Heinox, at an advanced age, had suddenly been confronted with a terrible identity crisis.

“I am trying to understand this, will I please cooperate?” Vicia bellowed.

“I am cooperating! I can’t understand why I’m not cooperating!” Heinox screeched back.

Pelmen mounted Pezi’s horse and kicked its sides. The beast sprang forward, puzzled but delighted at the lightness of this new rider. Bronwynn was about to reach the pass proper, and Pelmen urged the horse toward her at a trot.

“They’re getting away!” Heinox shouted. “Can’t I see they are getting away?”

“Of course I can see it!” Vicia rumbled.

The sound echoed off the sides of the canyon with a presence numbing to the ears, like a thunderclap at close range.

“Focus! Focus!” Heinox cried, but it was no use. As Heinox focused on Pelmen, who was moving up the pass and bending down to sweep the golden Princess up onto the horse behind him, Vicia was focusing on Pezi, who was urging his reluctant animal into pursuit. Heinox shifted to focus on Pezi, but Vicia had turned to focus on Pelmen. The great dragon gave a headsplitting, blood-chilling, back-bending scream of utter frustration, and flew straight up into the sky.

Pelmen cast a glance over his shoulder at Pezi, and kicked his mount once again, driving it toward the west and the land of Ngandib-Mar. By the time Pezi reached the open clearing and looked after him, Pelmen and the girl were well on their way into the highland plain of that land. Though he could still see them, they were far away by now-too far and moving too fast to follow. He looked up and watched the dragon high above him, turning erratic circles in the sky. He pulled a sword from its scabbard on the horse’s saddle and turned to ride back down into the gorge. The line of slaves still struggled to coordinate a run for safety, and Pezi leveled the tip of his weapon at the back of one slave’s head.

“Silence!” he roared, his confident manner restored by the change in the situation. The slaves stopped shoving, and all turned to look at him. “Now,” he said when all was quiet, “we move on to Lamath. It’s a long walk. I suggest you save your breath.” The column turned and, under Pezi’s watchful eye, began once more to ascend the slope. “Bring the litter! It’s bound to be worth something,” Pezi grumbled, but as they carried it past him he ground his teeth together in anxiety and disgust. He would have some explaining to do to his uncle Flayh. And who would believe the true story?

As he reined his horse in behind the last walker, his mind was hard at work constructing a lie that would absolve him of guilt. Pezi wasn’t good at many things, but he was an accomplished liar. “To the right!” he shouted when the first man reached the fork. It would indeed be a long way to Lamath.

The banquet hall of Chaomonous was built of yellow marble. When all the tapers were lit, the walls reflected the favorite color of the golden King; all were burning brightly tonight. But the dinner conversation was subdued this evening, and the occasional giggle seemed out of place in the near-funereal atmosphere. What conversation there was subsided when a golden-mailed warrior entered the hall. He walked hesitantly toward the elevated table of the King.

All could tell by the expression on his face that the news he brought wasn’t good. No one was surprised when the King’s silver goblet streaked through the room like a meteor; Talith frequently threw things when he was angry. It was a shock, however, when the object bounced off the distant back wall. No one had seen him that angry before.

“Advisors! To me!” the King shouted, then turned on his heel and stomped off the dais. All over the hall there were muttered “Pardon’s” and “Excuse me’s” as the King’s experts bade good-bye for the night to their ladies and trotted toward the doorway on the east side of the room. The King headed for the chamber of his council of war. Plans would be made tonight that would shape the destiny of the empire.

Ligne, the King’s latest mistress, watched him out the door and then reached for his plate. The best piece of meat lay untouched there, and she took great pleasure in finishing it off. She wished she were privy to the words of the council—but she had her spies sprinkled through the experts, so she would hear soon enough. Thus far things were proceeding exactly according to her plan.

As she licked the grease from her delicate fingers she noticed the Queen eyeing her with suspicion. Latithia, the Queen and mother of the Princess, was out of favor with the King these days. Ligne licked the last of the juice from her hand, then smiled brightly at the Queen, her blue eyes twinkling. The Queen looked away, and Ligne was pleased to note the flush of Latithia’s cheeks. Those seated near Ligne gave no thought to her smug smile. These days Ligne often smiled like that.