Robert Hughes - The Prophet of Lamath

A few minutes later Pezi came hurtling into his uncle’s hideaway, landing in a blubbery pile at Flayh’s feet. There he cowered, expecting to be slapped or booted—or at the very least, spat on.

“Welcome, nephew.” Pezi cleared his throat. “Hello, uncle.”

“You may rise. Unless you like it down there.” Pezi mumbled, “Thank you.” He pushed himself to his feet.

Flayh waited until his cringing nephew looked him in the face; then he smiled again. His smile, as always, made Pezi wince. “How did you find the capital of our fair land?” Flayh asked gently.

“It was still there when I left—” Flayh chuckled. “A sensible reply, in light of present developments. Sit down, sit down, tell me of your journey.” Flayh sat at his triangular table, and Pezi felt behind him for a stool and sat uneasily.

Something was very wrong with Flayh, he decided. “Perhaps something is wrong with me,” Flayh agreed out loud, and Pezi fell off the stool. Flayh cackled.

“How did you—”

“Read your thoughts?” Flayh laughed. “I don’t know!” The old merchant laughed until tears came.

Pezi retrieved the stool in the interval, and pinned it to the floor with his bottom. Flayh’s chuckles subsided at one point, but began again when he caught sight of Pezi’s puzzled expression. At last the old merchant grew calm. “I don’t know,” he repeated. “The power just comes and goes. Some days I hear nothing, I see nothing. Other days, events a hundred miles away unfold here, in this room. Where are your cousins?” The abrupt change of subject caught Pezi off guard, and as he began to stammer out some spur-of-the-moment lies, Flayh’s cackling began afresh.

“You cannot lie to me, nephew,” he said merrily. “I saw the dungeon where you left them, when you left your thoughts unconcealed. Oh, yes!” he went on, “I know that you had the power to free them, but chose to leave them there!” Pezi shrank away from Flayh’s bright smile. Flayh’s voice softened. “It’s all right, nephew. They were fools and hangers-on, and we’re well rid of them.”

“You’re not angry?”

“Angry, nephew? Of course not. I’m positively pleased. I had a vision of you one day, Pezi-lying and scheming with the High Priest of Lamath—and I thought to myself, There’s a chance, just a chance, that Pezi could pull this off.” Flayh chuckled, and pulled his chair closer to Pezi. “Now then. The news.

What’s become of this Prophet fellow?”

“I don’t know,” Pezi replied honestly. “After Asher halted his execution, they took him off to the dungeon. The city was in an uproar, and that’s when I left.”

“Asher stayed his execution? I wonder why.”

“I really didn’t wait around to find out, uncle. But it seems now that it must have had something to do with the dragon!”

“The dragon, yes—” Flayh said to himself, and he walked to the southern window again and gazed up at Dragonsgate. “I’ve seen the twi-beast in the air a dozen times in the last week, but he has yet to touch this place.”

“The rest of Lamath should be so lucky!”

“Why? What did you see?”

“Blackened fields—whole gardens of vegetables burned beyond—”

“Enough about vegetables,” Flayh said curtly, waving his hand as if to knock the thought away. He continued to gaze southward. “I had worried that this Prophet might be some threat to our security until the dragon went on this rampage. But since we dwell in the shadow of Dragonsgate, I doubt a soul in northern Lamath will concern himself with our little villa now.”

“I wish I felt so secure,” Pezi muttered. “Pelmen has been an enemy for so long—”

“Pelmen!” Flayh was staring at Pezi, hard. “Who said anything about Pelmen!” The old Flayh was visible in the merchant’s scowl, and Pezi began to tremble.

“Why, you. I mean, didn’t you? I thought, I assumed, that—”

“Speak up!” Flayh screamed, and Pezi spoke rapidly.

“I assumed you knew the Prophet was Pelmen! Oh, please, Uncle Flayh, I didn’t realize—”

“Silence!” Flayh screamed again, and a hush settled over the tower chamber. Flayh jerked around and looked once more to the south, and Pezi heard him breathe again, “Pelmen.” Pezi marveled at Flayh’s tone. Was it envy he heard? Why would Flayh envy anyone, especially this dangerous vagabond? Or was that a tone of respect? Ridiculous. Flayh honored nothing and no one. Fear, then? Well they might fear Pelmen, Pezi thought, for the powershaper-turned-Prophet had built enormous influence among the populace of this sizable nation, even if he had stirred the wrath of the majority. But it really wasn’t fear he had heard in Flayh’s voice. Flayh seemed to have some sense of longing, as if— “Not yet,” Flayh suddenly announced, and Pezi stared at him in bewilderment. “I am not ready—yet. I’d sooner face the dragon.”

“Pardon me, uncle, but I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Don’t unpack your things, Pezi. I want you to be ready to leave at a moment’s summons.”

“But where—”

“Should Pelmen pursue you here, he will not find you or me. I’ll watch the northern mouth. When the dragon ventures out of his lair again, we start.” Pezi blanched. “To—to try to pass Dragonsgate? While the dragon is a-burning?”

“At the present, nephew, I would rather face this dragon than Pelmen.

Get out! I need to think this through.”

“We’ll try to pass Dragonsgate while the beast is gone?”

“Did I not tell you to get out?” Flayh asked.

“But what if he returns while we’re crossing?” Pezi asked. His round face had turned the color of an eggshell. “What then?” Flayh stared out at the mountains, painted now in stark silhouette by the fading light of the sunset. “Leave the dragon to me, nephew. That day may be one when I have my abilities about me—and I’ll show Vicia-Heinox some illusions that will set his two heads spinning!” Pezi left the room, his hands trembling and his knees weak. He didn’t know what chilled him most—the thought of meeting Vicia-Heinox again, or Flayh’s parting smirk. The old man was definitely crazy.

THE WIND whistled around them, and Serphimera had to shout to make herself heard above the noise. “Why aren’t we turning south?”

“Leave the navigation to me. Lady,” Admon Faye yelled back as he urged their pony on with a boot to its flanks. “I got you past the soldiers, didn’t I?”

“I don’t question your cunning, Admon Faye, but neither do I trust it. I chose you to bring me to Lord Dragon because of your efficiency in dealing with enemies, but you have given me cause to doubt the sincerity of your devotion!”

“When we get to Dragonsgate, you’ll see who I’m devoted to!” Admon Faye yelled back. He was being honest, if unpleasantly so.

Serphimera had good reason to question Admon Faye’s motivation in making this trip. They had been within sight of the pass for days, but the slaver had chosen to take them through the dry hills at its base in a zigzagging path that seemed to lead them no closer to it. A dozen times she had felt that they were clearly aiming for the pass, but then, in the name of avoiding Asher’s soldiers, the ugly slaver would backtrack away again.

“And when will we get to Dragonsgate?” she demanded.

“When the soldiers aren’t blocking the road,” Admon Faye growled. That was a lie. They would get to the pass just moments before Pelmen arrived there, if he had his way. Days before, he had purposely revealed himself and his celebrated passenger to a small troop of Lamathian warriors, then had easily given them the slip—all merely to draw Pelmen to Dragonsgate. Admon Faye had uncovered something in Serphimera she hadn’t realized was there, and he wagered that Pelmen felt the same.