Robert Hughes - The Prophet of Lamath

The beast stood at the far end of the pass, and suddenly Asher realized why. There in the southern mouth stood a host of golden-clad warriors, and the dragon appeared to be speaking with them! Abruptly the beast fluttered into the air, and settled to earth a scant ten feet away from the General. Asher jumped from his horse and prostrated himself on the ground, listening as he did to the honor guard following his lead. Then he snapped upright onto his knees and slammed both arms across his chest in the age-old salute of the dragon.

“See?” Vicia chortled. “See? I told you they would come, that my people would come!”

“We have come. Lord Dragon, to honor you, and to defend you against infidels who exalt gold above the spirit!” Asher closed his eyes in sincere devotion, awaiting the Lord Dragon’s reply.

“I told you, I told you,” Vicia sang out childishly.

“Close it up, you stupid lizard,” Heinox snapped, and Asher’s eyes popped open. “There are thirty of them. I have an army of thousands.” Had he imagined it? Or had Asher actually heard one head call the other head a lizard? “How many are you?” Vicia asked.

Asher blurted out, “Twenty thousand! But—”

“There, you see?” Vicia screamed. “Now I have an army of thousands, too!”

“But Lord Dragon—” Heinox swooped down into Asher’s face. “Call me that again and I’ll swallow you.”

“Don’t you dare,” Vicia seethed, “or I’ll chew up every general you have, armor and all!”

“You just do that, ‘Lord Dragon,’” Heinox mocked, “and watch what I do in return!”

“But Lord Dragon, we are your army!” Asher cried.

“The Chaons are my army!” Heinox roared. “You belong to this disgusting lizard I share a body with!” Asher felt faint.

He stumbled to his feet and leaned against his horse. “Then—the dragon is no longer one… the dragon is divided?”

“Yes, and will be as long as this ball of meat on a neck continues to call himself a god!”

“I am a god!” Vicia roared.

“You heard him say so!”

“I’ve heard you say so again and again. That doesn’t make it any less a pile of—”

“My army will prove that I am a god! Won’t you, whatever your name is.” Asher blinked. “The Lord Dragon does not know my name?”

“How should I? What do you think I am, all-knowing or something?”

“I… am Asher.”

“There. This Asher will go against your Talith, and you’ll see who is a god!”

“Talith is here?” Asher asked.

“Yes, Talith is here,” Heinox sneered, “and you had better prepare yourself to meet him, for he’s about to destroy you and your nation!”

“Not here he isn’t,” sniffed Vicia.

“Of course not here. The battle will take place in Lamath.”

“Think again, my scaly-eyed friend!” Vicia snorted. “It will take place in Chaomonous! You don’t expect me to allow my fields to be ravaged by your barbarians, do you?”

“I certainly don’t plan to let Chaomonous be despoiled by your warriors, either!” growled Heinox.

“All right,” Vicia said. “Let’s do as that merchant fellow suggested. Send both armies into Ngandib-Mar to fight one another. Then the victor can go find that Pelmen person for us.” Heinox snorted, and cocked his head. “That’s the best idea you’ve had since the Pelmen first passed this way!” Suddenly, much to Vicia’s surprise, the dragon was in the air again. Heinox happened to be controlling their bodily functions that day, and he wanted to speak with Talith. “We’ll send his army through the pass first,” Heinox said. “After all, they’ve been waiting for days.”

“Agreed.” Vicia was trying to steer his head into the wind to keep from feeling so pulled about. He was already plotting the best way to get Asher through to Chaomonous instead, to pillage throughout the Chaon homeland and teach Heinox a lesson.

Talith had bristled at the first appearance of Asher across the pass, but now he was cowering again. If only the dragon didn’t whiz around so fast! It took his breath away each time he saw the monster hurtling toward him.

“We’ve decided what you’re going to do,” Heinox began, and Vicia immediately interrupted him.

“Yes, we’ve decided to send you to Ngandib-Mar.”

“I was going to tell him!” Heinox roared.

Vicia sneered, “But I beat you to it.” As the heads berated one another, Talith sought to clear his mind and to consider his options. Tahli-Damen had suggested the possibility of moving into Ngandib-Mar, but the small group of warriors across the pass had inflamed him, and he surprised even himself by breaking into the dragon’s argument. “And what if I say no? What if I decide I want to attack that pitiful troop of Lamathians yonder?” The dragon looked at him with four eyes; then the two heads chorused, “We’ll eat you.” In moments, Talith was saddled and his army ready to march.

The long, golden column began again to wind its way westward through the pass. Vicia-Heinox took to the air again, planning to explain the situation to Asher.

“Where is he?” Vicia asked. Then he demanded, angrily, “Where is he?”

“Perhaps he grew frightened and ran home.”

Heinox laughed and dropped his head close to their body to escape Vicia’s snapping teeth. Vicia knew better than to bite his twin, but in his rage he wasn’t thinking straight. His army, the army of Lamath, was nowhere to be seen.

The warriors of Lamath waited at the foot of the mountain for some signal. When they saw their General and his small troop break into view from the bowels of the pass, all of Lamath drew their swords, and commanders began forming that blue line that had proved such an invincible defensive barrier in the northland campaigns. Tension mounted as they waited for the enemy to gallop into sight—but no enemy appeared. Nor did Asher give any sign to charge. Instead he came right through the ranks, shouting loudly for his falconer as he rode to the signal wagon. Once there, he leapt from his horse and grabbed the stylus and parchment his signaler offered. His chief of wings sprinted toward them with a bird cupped in his hands.

“My best, General Asher.”

“It had better be so,” Asher snapped back, and the General held the bird skillfully as the falconer affixed the message to its leg. Asher shut his eyes and imagined the square of the capital, and the dungeon, and the office of the warder. When the picture was clear in his mind he tossed the bird skyward with a shout, and the blue flyer made swiftly for the north, carrying the words that would save Pelmen’s life.

Serphimera did not watch the execution. She waited it out on the dining plaza of one of those small mansions that overlooked the square. It was the home of a staunch supporter-one who could not quite bring himself to give his body to the dragon and who sought to assuage his guilt by giving his home to the Priestess. He, along with his family, watched and cheered from a balcony high above her. But Serphimera could only pace and mourn, already missing this one who had held so much promise, but who had failed so completely.

Though she wasn’t watching, Serphimera was in touch with all that happened beyond the wall through the cries of the crowd. When the laughter and cheers turned sour, she cupped her hands to her mouth and called out, “What’s happening? Tell me!”

“It is incredible, Priestess!” her outraged supporter yelled back. “The King has stopped the execution!” A moment before, she had been mourning Pelmen. Now, abruptly, she hated him again. “This sorcerer has witched even the King!” Before anyone could stop her she dashed out the garden gate and into the street. The crowd parted before her, giving her free passage to the dungeon.