Robert Hughes - The Prophet of Lamath

“We’re n-not going to .find anything!” Rosha burst out, his frustration getting the better of his patience.

“We will too!” Bronwynn snarled back at him. She was just as frustrated as he, but was unwilling to relinquish the idea that somewhere in the book they would find some key. “It’s got to be here!”

“I’m thinking the lad’s right,” Erri muttered softly, and the young couple turned to look at him. “Seems to me if the writers of that book knew how to control the twi-beast, they would have done it themselves.” The little man’s eyes flickered over to Pelmen, who had been sitting in morose silence throughout the morning. “I think perhaps the Prophet is agreeing with me.” But Pelmen said nothing, preferring to keep his own sullen counsel. They all knew what he was contemplating. Try as they might, their words hadn’t pierced his gloom. He was reviewing the doom Serphimera had pronounced on him.

“You shouldn’t worry about it, Pelmen!” Bronwynn pleaded. “She’s just a crazy woman who gets a thrill out of getting others swallowed! Forget her!”

“Oh, she’s far more than that,” Pelmen murmured, and he rose to stroll around the hot tent for the twentieth time.

“But she’s robbing you of your—your creativity!” the girl continued. “If Erri’s right, if the writers of the book expected you to find a solution, you need to concentrate! You need to—” The flap of the fish-satin shelter was thrown open, and Asher strode in. “Still struggling, I see. No results?”

“How can we make any plans when he won’t take his mind off that imposter Priestess?” Bronwynn snapped.

Asher’s reply was uncharacteristically gentle. He touched the girl’s cheek lightly, and said, “Don’t be too harsh with your master. When it comes to Serphimera, I have the same disease.” Bronwynn’s eyes widened, and Asher, embarrassed, abruptly dismissed the subject. “But I didn’t come to discuss that woman; I came to tell you news of another. I think, dear Princess, that this will be of particular importance to you. Rather, I should say, my Queen.”

“Queen?” Bronwynn asked.

Rosha echoed her. “Q-queen?” Even Pelmen snapped out of his reverie to listen to this news.

“Yes, my Lady, you appear to be a Queen without a kingdom. At any rate, that is what my foreign-policy advisors have concluded. It seems a woman named Ligne has usurped your father’s throne.”

“Ligne!” Bronwynn spat.

Pelmen leapt over to grasp Asher’s arm. “How did she accomplish that!”

“Through guile, I would wager, having heard a bit about this Ligne from the local merchant houses. But I really don’t know. All I can say is that the skies of Lamath are filled with blue flyers this morning, and they all bear the same message. It’s to you, Prophet.” Asher extended the note to Pelmen, who grabbed it and read it aloud: “Pelmen, the so-called Prophet. They tell me you are powerful.

Report at once to Dragonsgate and dispose ^f the dragon. By order of your Queen. Ligne.”

“That woman is no Queen!” Bronwynn cried, her hands forming into claws unconsciously.

“Oh, but it appears she is,” Asher observed. “For the moment, at least.”

“But what about my father?”

“I saw your father in Dragonsgate over a week ago.” Asher’s face grew very grave, and he spoke more softly. “There is a strong possibility that your father is dead.” Bronwynn’s mouth opened slightly, and her breathing turned shallow. Then she spun on her heel and faced Pelmen. “We have got to get rid of this beast!” Her eyes were flashing fiercely—they were also filling with tears.

“Bronwynn, that’s what we’ve been trying to do for days.”

“We haven’t been doing anything! We’ve just sat here talking, while you’ve moped around!” A tear streaked down the girl’s face, and she frowned the more savagely as she felt it drop. “It’s time for us to move!”

“I’m with h-h-her,” Rosha said proudly, and Erri had to hide his smile behind his new blue tunic.

“But Bronwynn,” Pelmen soothed, “you are the one who has been so insistent that we plan well before we begin!

Rosha, what’s your father’s favorite saying about battle?” Rosha turned away from Pelmen’s searching eyes, and muttered, “If you plan it well, you can capture hell—”

“And it’s true,” Asher broke in. He put his hand on Bronwynn’s shoulder and spoke with a fatherly tone. “The Prophet is right. We really cannot go toward Dragonsgate unprepared.

We will never win the battle against this hideous monster unless we—” The sound of clattering hoofbeats beyond the tent’s thin walls caught the attention of everyone within. A messenger burst suddenly through the flaps.

“What is it?” Asher demanded, for no messenger would dare enter his tent unbidden unless he heralded cried out breathlessly. “She and the ugly southerner who carries her have broken through our southern watch! They ride even now to Dragonsgate!” Asher and Pelmen gaped at each other, thunderstruck. “She’s going for ultimate devotion!”

Asher shouted.

“Then let’s get on the road!” Pelmen blurted back, and both men exited the tent at a dead run.

Rosha, sensing freedom at last from this life of books and talk, grinned broadly. “That was fast! I wonder what made the difference?” He added this last to tease Bronwynn, who was visibly fuming. She whipped around and shoved her pretty nose into his face.

“Don’t you mean who made the difference?” She flung the book into a corner, setting the walls of the tent a-quiver, and stamped out to get ready to travel. Erri fetched the book tenderly from the comer, and patted it free of dust.

“Do me a favor, lad,” he said. “Don’t anger her while she’s handling the book. The next time, she’ll likely aim for your head, and I’d hate to see either of you damaged.” The keeper of Flayh’s dungeon knocked respectfully on his master’s door. He felt very out of place, and was sure his uneasiness showed. He had dwelt so many years below the surface of the earth that this height made him feel dizzy.

“Get in!” came a muffled shout, and the keeper anxiously entered the room.

Flayh stood by a window, gazing to the south. “My nephew Pezi will be arriving at the gate in a few moments—”

“From the south?” the keeper exclaimed. “How did he avoid the drag—” He stopped. Flayh had turned to look at him, and the old merchant’s facial expression had silenced him as forcefully as a scream of command.

“Did I say that he was arriving from the south?” Flayh asked.

“No, my Lord, but you were looking south—I just thought—”

“Have I ever asked you what you were thinking?”

“Ah, no—”

“Then what makes you think I want to know your thoughts now?”

“Nothing, my Lord.”

“You stink of a flower bed! Why?”

“Ah, you told me to clean up, master, sir. You told me I stink, and that other soldiers would not want to stand beside me in battle—”

“Other soldiers still won’t stand beside you in battle! Get to the far side of the room!” The keeper hustled to obey Flayh’s order, and the old merchant turned back to his window and breathed deeply. “Pezi arrives even now at the gate. He’s come from the north with news of a most critical nature.” Flayh turned to spear the keeper on a cold stare. “Greet him, and bring him to me immediately.”

“Yes, my Lord.” The keeper moved swiftly to the door.

“And, keeper.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Flayh smiled. “Pezi has grown accustomed to preferential treatment in the court of the High Priest of Lamath. He needs to be reminded what home is like. Treat him none too gently, do you hear?” The keeper grinned. Here was the old master at last! “Yes, my Lord!” he gloated; then he disappeared into the stairwell.