Robert Hughes - The Prophet of Lamath

Vicia-Heinox vaulted into the air, and watched curiously from above.

“It appears,” sneered Vicia, “that your army has found someone to fight after all—not any too well, I might add.”

“Who are all these warriors? Where did they alt—come from?”

“From Ngandib-Mar, I would suppose. How did they get onto our hills without us noticing?”

“Because you’ve been so busy playing god, we haven’t had time to protect ourselves! An army that size could do us great harm, yet we didn’t even see it!”

“We’ve seen it now, though. Why get so excited?”

“Let’s drop down and burn them off our hills!” Heinox roared.

“Why? Because they are so effectively slaughtering your precious King Talith’s warriors?”

“Vicia, try to be reasonable! An army that close is potentially harmful to us! We must deal with the threat!”

“Sorry, Heinox, but I have no wish to aid Talith’s army. Though my Lamathians proved to be unfaithful, these from Ngandib-Mar seem quite brave.”

“We have never allowed such a battle to take place so close to our nest!” Heinox screamed. “Suppose we should become involved somehow in this fighting?”

“That’s simple, Heinox,” Vicia replied. “We’ll bum both armies to ashes.” Pahd laughed aloud as his mounted forces exploded into Talith’s exposed southern flank. Three—no, four—no, five Chaons made the mistake of engaging him, and Pahd efficiently disposed of each. Some may have thought Pahd bloodthirsty as he twisted in his saddle, hacking right and left, laughing more loudly with every stroke. But it was no thirst for blood that drove him forward. It was his genuine enjoyment of the sounds and smells of battle, and the blood-pushing excitement of personal combat. He dealt with a seventh, an eighth, then a ninth Chaon, before the golden warriors became aware of his seeming invincibility and began avoiding him.

Unfortunately, Pahd’s brethren-at-arms were not faring well at all. Since Dorlyth’s archers had not killed as many Chaons in the pass as had Venad’s, more fleeing soldiers joined the southern flank than joined the battle on the northern side of the field. The Mari attack in the north proved so powerful that already frightened Chaons grew more so, and many more Chaons than Maris died on that flank. But despite Pahd’s flickering sword, which snuffed Chaon life wherever it pointed, far more Maris died in the south. The full force of the Chaon attack shifted toward Pahd and his supporters, and they were driven back against the base of the mountainside.

After his initial hesitation, Talith’s courage flamed up more brightly than before. Once again he led the charge against the small force of Maris that flanked Tohn’s castle. Talith still believed his entire army followed him, and that the battle was confined to his engagement with these few who were ranged before him. But only seven thousand of his warriors had chased him all the way across the field; and as the two forces clashed together, the experience of the tough old Mari fighters proved the margin of victory. These waiting warriors had fought often in field campaigns, for at no time in the history of the Confederation of Ngandib-Mar had that great land been truly at peace. The Chaons they melee’d had never fought in any battle involving more than a hundred men on a side. The noise was distracting—more so was the sight of blood-spattered saddles and dying men.

Talith led one force to the left of Tohn’s wall, while Rolan-Keshi led another to the right. Talith shouted encouragement to his young General as he disappeared around the curve of the battlements.

The charge broke down into thousands of individual contests. Talith found himself engaged in a hand-to-hand straggle with a gray-haired veteran in a dirty jerkin. The man looked to be sixty or older, yet he fought with the energy of a teenager. Talith summoned all his experience from years of dueling in his own armory and tried every trick he could remember against this aged opponent. But the real struggle took place in Talith’s heart. Was he truly capable of killing another swordsman? It was not the other man’s life that concerned him. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of people had met death by Talith’s order. It was the thought of himself. Was he really skillful enough to win? Or would he prove himself a failure, and die in his discovery?.

It was perhaps Talith’s inability to conceive of his own death that saved him. That, and the old warrior’s age. The gray fighter had watched too many friends drop in battle to believe that death could not touch him. When his energy flagged, he could no longer resist the raw expression of Talith’s fear. With a desperate thrust, the King cut him from his saddle, and the man slept at last, joined with that host of fallen comrades who had acquainted him so well with death.

Talith shouted in exultation, even as his warriors were being beaten back. He broke off, shouting, “To me! To me!” His golden warriors were only too happy to obey. The Maris did not pursue. They regrouped to the west of Tohn’s castle, and waited to see what Talith would do.

On the north side of Tohn’s keep five hundred Chaon warriors were cut down. Among them was a promising young General who had been denied the chance to lead. Rolan-Keshi had been killed early, and his body now lay under a pile of golden-clad dead.

When Talith broke to the left and Rolan-Keshi to the right, the riders that followed them also broke off to one side or the other. All save one man. Down out of the mountain pass came Tahli-Damen, riding as straight and as sure as one of Venad mod Narkis’ arrows to the very door of Tohn’s keep. There he leapt from his saddle and ran to pound on the gate.

“Let me in!” Tahli-Damen cried out, straining his voice to make himself heard above the din. “Let me in! I’m a merchant, can’t you see? Let me in, I’m begging you! Look at my clothes, I’m a merchant!” He pounded and kept on pounding until finally he heard a reply shouted from above, and he craned his neck to look up into the face of a wild-haired old man robed in the colors of Ognadzu. “Please Let me in!” he called.

“No!” replied Tohn mod Neelis, and the old man started to go away.

“Please! Listen! If you are Tohn, I have important words from Jagd! I’m of the house of Uda, can’t you see that?”

“Go away!” Tohn shouted, and once again he started to leave the wall, but Tahli-Damen looked so horrified Tohn felt obligated to give some explanation.

“I can’t let you in! You’re surrounded by battling warriors!”

“I know! I know!” Tahli-Damen screamed. “If I open my gates, the battle will move in here!”

“Open them just a crack. I’m small! Can’t you see I’m a merchant?”

“I can see you wear the colors of a merchant, of a house that rivals my own! No, I will not jeopardize my family and my keep for a merchant from the house of Uda!”

“But what of Jagd? Your alliance? The changes the Council of Elders have sought to institute—”

“It’s all destroyed, and you may tell that to Jagd for me when you see him!”

“I see him!” Tahli-Damen yelled. “If I survive, I’ll tell him that you are no ally!”

“Good!” Tohn called back over the battle’s roar, “because I am no longer his ally.”

“Please!” Tahli-Damen tried one last time. “I am a merchant!”

“A merchant of Uda! I am of Ognadzu!

The house of Uda in Ngandib-Mar is two miles north! I wish you luck in finding it, but I will not let you in here!”

“This bodes ill for the future relations of Uda and Ognadzu!” Tahli-Damen shouted, but Tohn’s head already had disappeared from view. The young merchant heard horses charging around the curve of the wall toward him, and he threw himself against the gate as the thundering hooves passed close behind him. Then he slumped slowly down, until at last he sat in the dust at Tohn’s front gate, scratching at it with his fingernails as if to find a soft place to dig his way into the keep.