Robert Hughes - The Prophet of Lamath

“B-b-but—the horses. They n-need water, and there is no stream—” Pelmen did not look away from the boy, but held his right hand out to his side, palm down. A shifting wind touched the mass of pine needles below it. Strangely, the wind scooped some aside, and beneath the organic cover a bald patch of stone appeared. A wet stain began spreading across the slab of rock, and then—a trickle. Pelmen’s eyes had not left the face of his youthful companion.

“You do control it!” Bronwynn cried out with glee. “You are still the same Pelmen!” His eyes flicked back to her, and her excitement subsided into an awkward silence. “I do not control it, my Lady. I mediate it. And as to my being Pelmen—was that ever in doubt?” A smile twitched on her Ups, and she shrugged childishly, robbed of any reply. But as he swung himself to the ground, blue folds whispering, and as the horses bent to lick the growing stream of water that now nibbled at the dry mulch, she reflected on his question. And yes, she had to answer, there had been doubt in her mind. What’s more, that doubt remained, for this was another, different Pelmen, the third she had met. How could she ever come to know a man who constantly shifted character? Of one fact she was sure, however. She knew she would follow him.

IT WAS a horrible storm. Through the skin of the tent they would see nothing but black, then at once the white light would flicker beyond its walls, and they would see clearly the outline of their shelter’s bright stripes. Then would come the crashing crescendo of noise, booming through the giant trunks as if wishing to rip them from their age-old stands by force of sound alone. With each sense-shattering blast Bronwynn would gasp or moan, and clutch Rosha more tightly. As each wave of thunder reverberated past them, she appeared surprised that she still had not been swallowed up and carried away. Rosha, too, recoiled at each blast, but in between shocks he was having a wonderful time hugging Bronwynn to him and teasing her.

“You s-say it is not the p-powers trading insults, so why sh-should you be afraid?”

“Because it’s frightening!” she snapped angrily, but she made no move to leave his embrace. Another flash—another crash—she shuddered again.

“But your scientists have told you it is n-nothing but force j-jumping from cloud to cloud. If there’s nothing malevolent to it, why s-shake so?”

“Just because I can explain something doesn’t mean I can laugh at it!” She screamed at him, fingernails digging into his hands. “It could still kill us!”

“But it won’t,” he whispered softly, and she followed his eyes to Pelmen, who sat entranced on the far side of the tent. Rosha spoke the words so comfortingly and so sincerely that she almost relaxed—until another blow from the angry skies struck the muddy earth. Giant raindrops came fiercely, then subsided, then came again, beating so mercilessly on the fish-satin that it seemed certain to Bronwynn it would tear.

She glanced again at the kneeling Pelmen and muttered, “How can he sleep through this?” Then she yelped, as another stroke of the hammer of god echoed through the forest.

But Pelmen wasn’t sleeping. He listened to a conversation carried on the airwaves of the spirit, a conversation between three who willed to rule the world. Tohn mod Neelis had finally given in. He spoke to his co-conspirators through the pyramid.

But there was a difference now in Pelmen’s reception of the conversation. Perhaps because of the storm—perhaps because of the intensity of the discussion—perhaps because of the Power that was upon him—for some reason, Pelmen now heard and saw all three.

“It’s easy for you to give suggestions, my scrawny cousin, seated in your spire in the safety of Lamath!” Tohn was shouting. “You’ve not been sitting in a sweltering tent day after day, watching as the dandelions carpet the battlefield with yellow, and still watching when they turn white and blow away!”

“If you spent less time watching dandelions and more time watching Dorlyth’s movements, you could crack this tiny acorn of a castle and give us what we want!” Flayh replied, smiling viciously.

Jagd groaned, his chin resting in his hands, his elbows propped on his own triangular table. “My forehead is splitting.

Can we please get on with the work and hold the bickering until after the business is settled?” The other two saw the wisdom in Jagd’s plea and each man held his tongue. In order to keep the pretense of working in partnership, they would have to hold their bile inside.

“Doriyth is out of water,” Tohn grunted matter-of-factly. “Any day now he’ll be forced to take the field, and sheer numbers insure our victory.” Many miles to the north in a dripping forest, Pelmen winced at the news. Surrounded by a torrent of water, he felt his own throat constricted by his brother’s thirst.

Doriyth had broken his promise! “Be cautious, you old fool,” Flayh snarled. “Remember, he has a magician in there with him.” Jagd was surprised. Tohn did not bristle, but replied, “I don’t think so.”

“What?” Jagd asked. “I don’t believe Pelmen is here.”

“What do you know?” Flayh screamed. “Where could he have gone?”

“It’s a big world,”

Tohn muttered. “You lie!” Flayh exploded. “He’s slipped through your fingers, and you lie to cover your failure!”

“He didn’t slip through my fingers. He wasn’t there to begin with!”

“He wasn’t—”

“I can’t feel him!” Tohn bellowed. “I’ve fought in this country all my life! I’ve battled witches and sorcerers, the whole lot, and I can tell when someone is shaping the powers against me. I can sense it.” Tohn paused.

“Pelmen isn’t here.”

“Where is he, then?” Flayh demanded.

“He could be in Lamath for all I know!” Tohn roared back. Flayh hurled a stream of curses across the dark void at his cousin, and Pelmen opened his eyes a moment to clear his mind. The young couple still whispered and clung to one another for support. When he dipped back into the conversation, Jagd was speaking.

“We have an opportunity here we cannot pass by. With the dragon confused and angry, we have a passport through his passageway. Our armies will say they march in search of Pelmen. Talith prepares to march from the golden city and I assume the plans are in motion to bring the dragonhordes of Lamath to Dragonsgate as well?”

“They’ll be there,”

Flayh snorted, hoping this time Peri would not fail. If he did, Flayh would drop him down a deep shaft and let him starve to death. Of course, that would take longer than usual—Pezi had so much to go on.

“We can manipulate the two-headed beast to allow both armies passage to Ngandib-Mar. Once they come into contact with one another, battle is a certainty. We’ll let Lamath and Chaomonous whittle one another down on the eastern plains of the Man highlands, while their governments fall to carefully planned coups at home.” Tohn bit his tongue.

He thought of the fields around his castle. His green lands to become the battlefield for a wrestling of giants! At least now there would be no damage to the harvest. How could there be? There had been no planting.

“It is certain the lazy man of High City will make no move,” Flayh chuckled. “My informants tell me he spends his days folding artificial birds of parchment sheets and launching them from his castle casements.”

“No, there’s nothing to fear from Pahd mod Pahdel,” Jagd agreed, “and that is to our advantage. Once we control both Lamath and Chaomonous, Ngandib-Mar will tumble to us like a squatter’s shack in the whirlwind.” Tohn winced at that, but said nothing. He was thinking of his fields.