Robert Hughes - The Prophet of Lamath

As he guided the pony over the top of the climb and into the heart of the pass, Admon Faye was analyzing options.

His hunch had proved right. He had lured Pelmen to Dragonsgate, and with him the Princess Bronwynn. That he had succeeded in killing them both thereby was a foregone conclusion. What wasn’t so clear was how he was to survive, himself, to enjoy the rewards Ligne would heap upon him. His eyes were open wide to every possibility as they entered the presence of the dragon. How pleased Admon Faye was to find that the dragon’s eyes weren’t open at all!

“You fool!” Vicia trumpeted. “You bumbling, scaly fool! Why do you continue to crash into me!”

“For the same reason, apparently, that you keep ramming me!” Heinox roared back. “Because I can’t see a thing!” Serphimera was trembling with anticipation as she fought to free herself from the saddle. Admon Faye caught her under her arm and ungently assisted her dismount—he flung her into the dust. There she crawled toward the arguing beast on hands and knees as Admon Faye spurred his horse past the dragon and rode hard into the steep southern mouth of the pass.

“Who’s there! Someone’s there! Show yourself to me, or I’ll burn you away!” It was Vicia who shouted this, and therefore it was to Vicia that the quivering Priestess addressed her pleas. “Oh Lord Dragon, please accept my ultimate devotion! I’ve labored long and diligently for you! Now I ask that you receive me to your bosom as a pure and final sacrifice!”

“What?” Vicia asked, waving his head from side to side as if that would restore his sight. “Who are you?”

“She’s obviously one of your silly followers! Can’t you tell that by her syrupy drivel?” Heinox was shaking his long neck. It seemed the bright spot in the center of his vision was fading.

Serphimera looked up at Vicia-Heinox in confusion. This was Lord Dragon, burner of cities, shatterer of lies, the god of her girlhood! This awesome master was all powerful, and yet—blind? Arguing? Divided? It couldn’t be! “Lord Dragon is testing me!” she cried out, and she threw her hands up across her face and began to chant the creed. It was in this position Pelmen found her when, a moment later, he and his followers came clattering into the pass.

“Serphimera!” he called, and he swung himself down from Minaliss with his good hand and ran to grab her around the waist.

“What—what are you doing?” she gasped as he dragged her back and away.

“I’m trying to save you from being eaten!”

“But I want to be eaten! Let me go!” Serphimera jerked his hand to her mouth and bit down on it, hard.

“Who’s there?” Heinox roared. His head whipped around the dragon’s body, a clear indication of his panic. Was he surrounded by humans whom he couldn’t see? “Who’s there?” he screamed again.

Pelmen sucked on his wounded hand for a moment, but swiftly shot it out to jerk Serphimera back again when she tried to run for the beast. “What’s wrong with the dragon?”

“He’s pretending to be blind to test me!” Serphimera snarled as she struggled to free herself from his grip. “Let go! I must make the ultimate devotion!”

“You’re going to stay right here!” Without considering the impropriety of his action, Pelmen tripped Serphimera back into the dust and sat on her.

Then he motioned Rosha toward Ngandib-Mar. “Do it! Do it now!”

“Your Dragonship!” Rosha shouted as he ran to get behind Vicia-Heinox. “Your Dragonship!” he repeated when the beast seemed not to hear. One head slipped up and over the dragon’s back to try to peer into Rosha’s face. Suddenly, the boy was shaken by the enormity of it all. His memorized speech stuck in his throat, as he stared up at those gigantic jaws.

Pelmen bit his lip and struggled to keep his perch on Serphimera’s back. He ached for the boy, as a director sweats and stews when his star actor is in trouble. Pelmen had originally intended Rosha’s part for himself, but Asher and the others had refused to allow him to play it. Someone would have to do some very careful swordwork for the plan to succeed, and they argued that Pelmen’s dislocated shoulder eliminated him from consideration. Outvoted by all involved, the Prophet had finally, unwillingly, acquiesced. Now he devoutly wished that he had stood firm in his resolve to do it himself.

“Who is it?” Heinox bellowed. Then abruptly the beast’s voice softened, and he shouted gleefully, “It’s a lad! I can see him, it’s a lad!” Then Heinox remembered—he was surrounded by humans. “What are you doing here, boy?” he growled.

“I’m n-not a boy, your D-d-dragonship—”

“Then what are you?” asked Heinox. “Before being killed and eaten, of course.” Pelmen had prepared him for such threats, and the young warrior’s courage was returning. He found his ever-hesitant tongue. “Do I have the honor of addressing Vicia or Heinox?”

“I’m Heinox—”

“That is indeed splendid, for it is you, Heinox, that I have come to serve!” The dragon blinked. “What?” Rosha launched into his memorized speech: “What lad of the Mar has not heard of the powerful Heinox, who sensibly regards himself as first and foremost a dragon, and never stoops to believe himself a god? What lad of the Mar, having heard that Heinox needed a champion, would turn his back on so wondrous a vocation? I have come, your Dragonship, in answer to your call, to accept that challenge to serve you. I will be your representative in battle against the odious Vicia!”

“The what?” asked another voice menacingly, and Rosha turned around to see that Vicia was behind him—and that Vicia, too, could see.

“The odious Vicia!” Rosha replied, hoping that the dragon would not ask him to explain. Odious was Pelmen’s word, not his. He didn’t know its meaning—just that it was bad.

Vicia evidently knew the meaning, for he howled angrily, and darted down to swallow Rosha whole. Heinox knocked him aside.

“You shall not swallow my champion.” Vicia stared at Heinox, startled. Then he groaned. “Heinox! We agreed days ago that we would never again side with men against one another!”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“We have already been made into fools by one man today! Will you make us fools again?”

“I will not allow you to eat this lad! He’s my champion. If anyone eats him, I will.” Pelmen was nodding vigorously now at Asher. It was his cue. Asher strutted forward, cutting a splendid figure in a cherry-red robe, a startling change from his usual uniform of dark blue. Only Pelmen wore blue today… though Bronwynn and Asher and Erri had all pleaded with him to change his mind.

“Vicia!” Asher called. “I must speak to the head named Vicia!”

“I am Vicia!”

“Perhaps you do not remember me, for when we met I was otherwise attired. But you sought that day for a champion, wishing to set my army against Talith’s.”

“You!” Vicia fumed. “You abandoned me!”

“My army abandoned you, but not I! I have returned, my Lord Dragon, to defend you against this impostor head who refuses to acknowledge your divinity!”

“My divinity?” Vicia snorted softly, and once again the dragon’s vanity took control.

“The dragon is not divine, as the sensible Heinox knkn-kn—” Rosha’s face froze into an expression of panic. Pelmen jerked at the sound of that unfaithful tongue’s betrayal, and Serphimera used the distraction to roll him off and claw her way to her feet.

“What?” Heinox suddenly bellowed, looking closely at his stammering champion.

Asher rushed into his next line, attempting to cover Rosha’s stumble. “Not divine? Not divine? Who is this that blasphemes the Lord Dragon?” He played his part to the hilt. He had been too long in politics not to have a bit of the actor in him.