Robert Hughes - The Prophet of Lamath

“Why didn’t you go and help him?”

Bronwynn asked softly. Her face expressed faint distaste—the sad smile of one betrayed. “You could have… couldn’t you?”

“I could have,” Pelmen admitted.

Bronwynn waited for him to explain further, but he said no more. “I don’t understand,” she said finally, shaking her head and turning away, no longer able to meet his eyes.

“If you are to be my initiates, you will soon.” Bronwynn said nothing, nor did she turn back to him. She did nod slightly, as if to say, “We’ll see.” For the moment it was the best she could give.

Pelmen looked at Rosha. “I should have known better than to try to hide anything in the Great North Fir.” With that, Pelmen started for the door.

“P-p-Pelmen—” The Prophet stopped and looked back at the powerfully built young man. “When d-d-do we start?”

Pelmen grinned slightly and motioned toward the door. “Now, if you wish.” Rosha hopped from his cot and grabbed Bronwynn’s hand. “We’re r-ready,” he grunted.

Bronwynn glanced up at him in surprise. “I thought we agreed I would speak for us!”

“Then t-t-tell him we’re ready s-s-s-so we can g-get on with it!” Bronwynn looked at Pelmen and shrugged—then out she went through the door.

As they trooped into the library and down through the floor, they passed the Elder, who appeared to be lost in the reading of a sizable volume. Rosha entered the pit first, then Bronwynn.

As Pelmen put his foot on the top rung of the ladder and started down after them, the little holy man spoke, his eyes never leaving the pages of his book: “I don’t know why you ever thought you could do it alone in the first place.”

Vicia-Heinox groaned and rolled once more onto his back. He thrashed his tail from side to side, sweeping swirls of dust high into the air. As it settled onto the expanse of the dragon’s distended belly, Heinox snarled an accusation he had been repeating all morning long. “It’s your fault!”

“It isn’t my fault, it’s your fault!” Vicia snarled back. “You ate all those diseased ones!”

“They weren’t diseased, they were just underfed!” Vicia moaned again, and whimpered, “I wish I was underfed—”

“Well, if you hadn’t insisted on eating all of those fat young fools we wouldn’t be in this condition!”

“But they were so tasty—”

“So you kept gulping them down. I told you then you were eating too fast!”

“You didn’t help any by swallowing all the scrawny ones! Especially when there were so many volunteers.”

“There you go, trying to rob me of one of the few pleasures left me—savoring the taste of a helpless, shivering human!” The dragon rolled over onto its stomach and napped his wings feebly. Rather, Heinox flapped the wings.

Vicia just groaned. “That’s not going to help either.”

“What is?!” Heinox demanded.

“How should I know? We’ve never had a stomach-ache before!”

“We shouldn’t be having this one. But you insisted—”

“They were begging me to swallow them, Heinox!” Vicia relished the memory for a moment, then added grandly, “How could I refuse them their wish?”

“Don’t get started on that god business again,” Heinox growled. “If I hear one more word about that I will go mad.”

“You simply lack the capacity to understand spiritual things, Heinox,” Vicia goaded. “I think it’s because our soul resides in me.”

“What soul?” Heinox spat out.

“You see? You Just aren’t capable of comprehending.”

“I’m going to get you, Vicia,” Heinox threatened. His belly burned so fiercely he could not put much inflection into his threat, but he meant it from the bottom of their shared heart.

Vicia chuckled derisively. “And how will you manage that, since it is so evident from the condition of our stomach that whatever affects me affects you as well?” Heinox rose slowly into the air to gaze menacingly down on his counterpart.

“I’m going to destroy Lamath, and all your worshippers with it. Then we’ll see how much like a god you feel!” Now Vicia rose up to face him. “Without me you aren’t capable of destroying a hamlet, let alone a splendid and cultured civilization.” Vicia felt any nation that had the good sense to worship him was obviously splendid and cultured.

“Perhaps not,” Heinox replied, with the dragon’s equivalent of a smile. “But the nation I favor is capable.”

“What nation?” Vicia snapped. Heinox raised his head as high into the air as his neck would allow, and turned to gaze arrogantly to the south. Vicia understood, and snorted his reply. “Chaomonous? You would pit those feebleminded tumblers in the gold helmets against the faithful of Lamath?” Vicia cackled. “Why, less than a month ago I burned out an entire column of your little golden heroes!”

“Keep in mind, Vicia, that it works both ways,” Heinox answered smugly. “You can’t do a thing to Chaomonous without my help.” Vicia pondered that. “Are you suggesting that we encourage these nations to battle one another? As our champions, perhaps?”

“Why does it take you so long to catch on?” Heinox mocked. “I think it’s because the brains reside in me!” Vicia growled softly but chose to ignore the taunt.

“We would encourage this war, but not participate in it?”

“I intend to participate in any way I can,” Heinox snarled.

“Whatever I can do to aid Chaomonous, I will do. But since I assume you’ll do the same for Lamath, I rather think our efforts will cancel one another out, don’t you? Or is that too big a thought for your tiny mind to swallow?”

“Would you please not mention swallowing?” Vicia groaned.

“The question—is, how to get Chaomonous to attack Lamath,” Heinox said to himself.

“Obviously I don’t have that problem. All I need say is, ‘Attack!’ and my faithful will leap to obey me!”

“You don’t know they’ll leap to obey you. All you know is that they’ll leap down your throat. Doesn’t sound like a very stable sort of warrior to me.”

“You just want humans to quake and tremble before you eat them.”

“They taste better that way!”

Heinox argued back. The dragon’s attention shifted once more to his stomach, and the beast rolled around in silent misery for several minutes before Vicia spoke again.

."It occurs to me that we should learn to cooperate a little before it’s too late.”

“Why should I cooperate with you?”

Heinox grumbled, though his stomach insisted painfully that there was at least one reason.

“What hurts me hurts you—and without my help you can’t protect yourself. What happens if one of these armies should decide to attack us instead of each other?” It didn’t take long for Heinox to get the point. In spite of their aching stomach, the two heads spent the rest of the morning relearning how to focus heat—in self-defense. By the time he finished venting his hostilities on the landscape, Vicia-Heinox felt remarkably better.

Pezi sat in the straw in a corner of the dungeon, trying not to pay attention to the insults being hurled at him from down the hall. Fortunately his cousins had been imprisoned in another cell. They all blamed their predicament on him, and now they competed with one another to see who could call him the vilest name. Far and away, the victor in this contest was Faliar, the young cousin Pezi had threatened on the road a few days before. Safely protected by two locked doors and walls of stone, Faliar’s acid tongue was free to wag its worst.

But there were some advantages, Pezi reminded himself. At least he didn’t have to suffer Faliar up close. Besides, his other cousins were angry enough to do him real harm; had they been imprisoned in this cell with him, he would scarcely avoid a beating, or worse. The dungeon of the crown of Lamath was a great improvement over Flayh’s.