Robert Hughes - The Prophet of Lamath

The cell Pelmen occupied was nothing more than a cage. It was a cubicle five feet square with one open side. This was closed off by a grill of riveted iron strips. A man could sit or kneel or curl himself on the floor, but he could not stand up or stretch out. Pelmen crouched in a comer, dozing. The guard assigned to watch him sat, pasty-faced with fear, on a stool facing the cage. He didn’t like this at all. Imprisoning a prophet was never done in Lamath, even if he were of the Divisionist order. What with the army marching off to war and all, was this really a good tune to aggravate the Lord Dragon? “We will see your prisoner,” someone said. When the guard recognized the speaker his ashen face turned whiter. Standing behind him was the entire council of advisors, along with the High Priest of the Dragonfaith himself!

“It’s all right,” Naquin told the guard, but the fellow wouldn’t be comforted. “Go-eat something,” Naquin ordered, and the guard scurried off to obey him. The High Priest turned to examine the man who squatted in the cage, whose eyes by now were wide and watchful. “Now, Prophet—for so they tell me you claim to be—help me to understand all this.”

“I am addressing the High Priest of the Dragonfaith?” Pelmen asked, without changing position.

“You are.”

“You really want to understand this?” Naquin thought for a moment. “No,” he answered honestly, “for I’m afraid you’ll want to bore me with a lot of religious rubbish. Actually, I just came to see you for myself.” Pelmen smiled slowly. “Here I am.” Naquin raised his eyebrows, but did not comment. “It may be of interest to you that I am concerned about your welfare. It seems Serphimera finds your Prophethood most distressing. Why is that?”

“She worships the dragon. I don’t.” The gathered advisors muttered and whispered at that, but Naquin smiled.

“How interesting! I don’t either. Perhaps we can be of some real use to each other, after all. I consider the Priestess to be a gigantic nuisance, and I appreciate any annoyance you may have caused her. Now, General Asher has decided that you are to be publicly drawn as an example to other false prophets, and he has sent that request to the King. He’ll sign it, of course. The King loves Serphimera. Which leaves you in a rather nasty situation, doesn’t it?”

“Does it?”

Pelmen asked quietly.

“I think so, yes. You do know the function of the drawing blocks?”

“I do.”

“You understand, then. Now, my feeling is this.

Asher is gone to war and the King is hidden, dragon knows where. That leaves me as the most powerful man in the capital. If you’ll agree to aid me in a little scheme my allies and I have worked up, I’ll declare you an officially recognized Prophet of Lamath. Coming from under the Hood that should carry some weight… this hood is certainly heavy enough!” Naquin chuckled at his own joke, and Pelmen managed a smile. “What about it?” Pelmen sighed, and looked around him at his situation. Then he tilted his eyes upward. “Whatever,” he said. He was speaking to the Power.

“Very good,” Naquin replied, interpreting that as consent. “My associate will explain the plan. Pezi? Come down here.”

Pelmen sat up at this, looking beyond the hooded figures to see if this was the Pezi he knew. The first part of the rotund little man to come in sight was his belly. Yes, thought Pelmen. It was Pezi.

“He has agreed,” Naquin muttered. “Explain the schemes.”

“Now, Prophet,” Pezi began. “First we—” Pezi stopped, his jaw agape.

“Hello, Pezi.”

“Pelmen the player!” Pezi burst out.

“What are you saying?” Naquin asked him.

“This is no prophet! He is Pelmen the player! He’s a crazy actor from Chaomonous!”

“A what?”

“An actor! He puts on plays!”

“What’s a play?” Naquin asked his advisors, but none of them knew.

“This is a very dangerous man!” Pezi exclaimed. “In fact, he may well be responsible for bringing destruction on all the world!”

“Oh really?” Naquin said, amused. “This fellow in the cage?” The High Priest chuckled.

“It was he who confused the dragon!”

“He did?” Naquin looked in at Pelmen. “I’m coming to like you more and more!”

“My Lord, he is dangerous!” Pezi cried.

“Not to me, friend Pezi. To me he is a new prophet who may prove a very valuable resource.”

“He is also known to be a sorcerer!” Pezi whispered anxiously in the High Priest’s ear. Naquin stopped laughing, and looked at Pelmen with a new seriousness.

“Are you a sorcerer?” he asked. Pelmen shrugged.

Pezi pressed his point home. “Didn’t you wonder when they told you he controlled the winds?”

“Yes,” Naquin agreed, watching Pelmen’s face.

“And when the Seachief said it was this man alone who sank the Chaon fleet?”

“Yes.” Naquin stiffened. “What do you want with Lamath, sorcerer?” he asked sharply. He suddenly felt very uncomfortable. The very mention of magic frightened him.

“I want only to see it free of this bondage you call the Dragonfaith.”

“I see.” Naquin turned to look at Pezi. “So. We let the order stand as it is, then?” Pezi nodded vigorously. The High Priest retreated hastily to the shelter of his giant temple, trailed by nine lanky spectres and one bouncing butterball.

Rosha and Bronwynn rode all that night and the next day. They stopped only for quick naps that were far too short to refresh them, and to beg chunks of bread in the villages they passed through. Though many villagers heaped abuse upon them for being so obviously initiates of the Divisionist sect, all provided some bit of food for the journey. It was the custom in Lamath to give initiates what they begged for and to speed them on their way. So Rosha and Bronwynn were well fed, but were left alone, and they rode unhindered to the capital city.

In the few weeks they had lived in this land, they had not traveled anywhere without seeing soldiers. Now the roads were empty, and by this they knew that the armies all had marched, and the battle at last was joined.

“Is he with them?” Bronwynn wondered aloud. Rosha wouldn’t answer. But Bronwynn was lonely and needed to talk.

“It is incredible to imagine that all this started when Ligne and Kherda had me kidnapped. Think of it—a war being fought over me!”

“Lamath,” Rosha interrupted. “S-see the smoke?” They rode harder then, and by sundown they reached the outskirts of the sprawling city. Bronwynn realized then why Rosha had been so silent. He was frightened.

They begged their dinner and found a deserted alleyway to gobble it down. “Where do we start looking?” Bronwynn asked, and Rosha shrugged.

He was oppressed by the buildings. Not by their height, nor by the skill of their construction, for in truth they were nothing but the hovels of rural squatters on the edge of the capital. What oppressed him was the sheer number of structures. They had ridden past row after row of shacks, yet seemed no closer to the distant The prophet of Lamath 277 palaces than when they had first entered the burgeoning township. There was a noise to his left, and Rosha’s sword leapt into his hand as he spun around to face the danger. Bronwynn couldn’t help but laugh.

“Wh-what is it!” he demanded.

“It’s just a cat. Haven’t you ever seen a cat before?”

“There are h-h-hordes of these cats!” Rosha yelled, and now Bronwynn saw them too-scores of cats, all of different colors, who ran along the piles of debris that filled the alley, who jumped from one squat roof to another, who slipped liquidly into hiding at the sound of Rosha’s shout. “We must leave this p-place!”