Robert Hughes - The Prophet of Lamath

he muttered, and Pelmen nodded and reached for a lamp. “Watch out for bears, and don’t stay all night, you need your sleep, too!”

“Yes, my father,” Pelmen replied absently, stepping onto the top rung of the ladder. “Before you go—”

“Yes?” Pelmen replied, stopping with his head at floor level.

“What about the boy and girl? Who are they? What am I to do with them?”

“The girl is the heir to the throne of Chaomonous. Clothe her in blue and hide her at all costs. The boy—his father asked me to teach him all I know. I’ve done better. I’ve brought him to my own teacher.”

“Pelmen, I—I am old. If it is your responsibility to teach him—can I bear that?”

“There is the matter of time, my father,” Pelmen replied, laying a hand on the old man’s sandaled foot and looking up into his eyes. “There are priorities.”

“Yes. Well, for now then. But protecting the girl—Pelmen, this Priestess could come any day now…”

“Let me deal with the Priestess,” Pelmen said quietly. “Just clothe Bronwynn in the blue of an initiate and keep her hidden for a time. As for truly protecting her, your mind can rest at ease. Protecting Bronwynn is something the boy won’t have to be taught Good night.” Pelmen descended into the cavern below the cloister, and the old man watched him down.

“Good night,” the Elder said at length, and then he added, “my brother.” Tohn mod Neelis stood at the head of his mounted army and waited for Dorlyth to venture out. Three columns of riders waited behind him, responding to the order for absolute silence by carrying on their inevitable prebattle conversations in whispers. Tohn’s archers lined the northern edge of the field, their flank shielded from arrows by wooden barriers constructed in the long days of the siege. His best cavalry unit waited on the southern tip of the hillock Tohn had camped on. He would not bring them in until after the general melee began. It was his plan to drive Doriyth south with a volley of arrow fire and squeeze him then between the main force and this reserve cavalry. It was a fair plan, Tohn decided. Nothing fancy. What really mattered was how his soldiers responded to this, their second battle. He hoped some at least had learned something from the first.

“Boy, I want you to stay well back from the action,” Tohn growled at his towheaded young squire.

“Yes, sir,” the lad replied, but he never looked up at his master. The gate was all he was concerned with, the gate of Dorlyth’s castle. There was a breathlessness in the boy that told Tohn he would not stay back—no, could not stay back.

“You do as I say, lad!” Tohn said sharply, and the boy looked up at him in surprise.

“I said I would,” he protested.

“It isn’t what you think it is, lad. This grunting and sweating and hacking at one another won’t make you the man you’re in such a hurry to be.”

“Did I say I was in a hurry, sir?”

“Every boy is in a hurry, lad. Then he’s an old man, wanting to stop hurrying but not knowing how.”

“Sir?”

“Just stay put when we charge!”

“Yes, sir.” There was a cry of

“Gate’s opening!” down the line, and Tohn looked again at the castle.

“By the powers, it is. Very well, lad. Pass my lance up.” Similar orders were mumbled up and down the line, until the rows of mounted soldiers resembled a living picket fence. The whispering stopped. There was much nervous coughing. Tohn’s own blood was pulsing rapidly though his aged veins, but he set his jaw and thought calming thoughts.

The gates were fully open now, and a line of riding warriors came slowly out and down the earthen ramp to the level of the field. One could say it was a ragtag army, and scorn its lack of discipline. On the other hand, one could view it as a collection of heroes, individualists who chose to dress and act as they liked, but who had chosen in this case to fight side by side. The second view, Tohn feared, was nearer the truth, and he felt his lips go suddenly very dry. The warriors flowed forth from the mouth of the castle in two rows, one turning south and one north, and all rode with the deliberate pace of men in control of themselves and their animals. Psychologically speaking, it was a most effective ruse, Tohn thought. Sweat trickled down his ribs inside the oven of his mail shirt. He fought his impatience.

The lines were fully extended now, and Tohn watched the fellow he had come to know as Doriyth ride from the gate.

With that mass of curling hair framing his face, he looked like a bear. The old merchant wondered briefly if the man’s nature was as violent as one of those denizens of the underground. Then Tohn lurched forward in his saddle, dumfounded. Doriyth mod Karis was unarmed… and he rode past his line of soldiers toward the middle of the field.

There the man stopped and dismounted. In a gesture that amazed all of the gathered host of Ognadzu, he slapped his horse on the rump and sent it riderless back to its stable. He then knelt on the grass and tugged a weed from the ground; inserting it between his lips casually, he began to chew it. It was obvious he was waiting for Tohn to meet him.

That sharpened knife was still tucked away inside Tohn’s battle shut, within easy reach. “When you get the chance, kill him,” Jagd had suggested, and Tohn intended to do so. Tohn measured the distance, and calculated that he could easily strike the man down and return to his line before Dorlyth’s warriors could react. A bow-shot could fell him, perhaps—but it would demand a brilliant bowman and a lucky shot. The deed needed to be done. There would be no better time.

“Here, lad,” he muttered, passing his spear back to the boy. “And here.” He handed the squire his greatsword, and took the reins to ride toward Doriyth.

“You did it, my Lord!” The boy beamed up at him, eyes full of the purest respect and admiration.

Tohn stared at him, shocked at this intrusion of virtue into his dark scheming. He felt himself grin foolishly, and in disbelief heard himself say, “Leading is easy, lad. You just have to believe in yourself.” Then he had kicked his horse and was riding forward, his attention fixed not on the crucial confrontation with Dorlyth, but strangely on the self he had seen reflected in his squire’s adoring eyes.

As his horse cantered toward Dorlyth, Tohn mod Neelis wrestled with a dilemma. Who was he, really? In his earlier days he had been trained to ignore the ethical dimensions of any question that involved the family. What was good for Ognadzu was good for Tohn mod Neelis. But now, as he felt his squire’s admiring gaze on his back, the greater glory of Ognadzu was the last thing on his mind. He was within speaking distance of Dorlyth now—if he were to strike the man down, now was the time—Tohn reined in his horse, and got off.

Dorlyth eyed the older man intently as Tohn walked stiffly up to face him and knelt across from him in the grass.

Dorlyth spoke quietly. “I hoped you would come.”

“Yes, well… What is it you want?”

“That’s what I was going to ask you.”

“You know what I want,” Tohn said gruffly. “Pelmen and the girl. Give them to me and my troops and I will leave you in peace.” A glimmer of a smile flashed behind the veil of Dorlyth’s beard. “I think we both know better than that, don’t we?” Tohn raised an eyebrow. “Know what?” Dorlyth sighed. “Pelmen isn’t here. Neither is the girl. You must know that by this time, Tohn. If I had a powershaper within my walls, why would I need to be here, talking with you?” Tohn shifted his eyes toward the long line of his blue soldiers, and shook his head. “You have me there.”

Suddenly Dorlyth was speaking with a hushed intensity that drew Tohn’s eyes back to his face. “I know why you’re here, Tohn. I know who sent you. What I don’t understand is why you, a Lord of the Mar, would allow yourself to be manipulated by flatlanders! Tohn—” Here Dorlyth broke off, sighing, then continued more quietly. “What do you want?