The Power and the Prophet, page 31
Erri nodded thoughtfully and glanced around at the rest of the assembled leadership of Lamath. Their aims were rather transparent. They wanted someone to take on the difficult chore of binding the nation back together again—preferably someone they could disassociate themselves from when his policies became unpopular. Erri would serve nicely. And he had no heirs, which meant in all probability that the crown would eventually come to one of their heirs instead. By that time, the throne might be worth something again.
The prophet smiled, and said, "No."
A moment of shocked silence followed by his refusal; then the group buzzed with animated whisperings. Erri raised his voice to speak above them. "I'm not the king type! But you're right. Lamath does need a king." The gathered host hushed to listen to him. "We need a good ruler, a strong ruler. Someone a lot like Asher." Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd. The prophet had touched a nerve. That was it, exactly. "And I think I have just the man."
"Who?" someone blurted boldly, and there were several more cautious echos of the same question.
"I'd prefer not to announce that as yet. The time isn't right. Until that time comes, I'll accept your offer to rule Lamath as a regent. But let's not concern ourselves with the triviality of a coronation. Now if you don't mind, there are important matters that require my attention. Excuse me." Erri gathered up his robes and took off across the square.
This abrupt ending to their ceremony stunned the Lamathian leadership. They gazed around at one another in confusion and embarrassment. Strahn soon noticed that several people were looking expectantly at him. When others did the same, he found himself the focus of attention, and his face turned red. Not knowing what else to do, Strahn shrugged elaborately. Then he turned to race off after Erri, mentally berating the prophet for having so little respect for conventions.
Erri had already thrust the meeting from his mind and was wrapped in earnest conversation with the Power. He was pleading that his unannounced nominee for the crown of Lamath might survive the coming storm. Remembering Rosha's fool-hardiness, Erri scowled. That was not a hopeful sign. Still, there came a time—sometimes in a moment—when foolhar-diness was tempered by crisis into bravery, and ambition crystallized into destiny. "Perhaps," Erri mumbled, "that time is at hand for Rosha." Erri listened, but the Power did not respond.
Scouting parties from the two armies met and exchanged greetings long before the two armies came into view of one another. Nevertheless trumpets of alarm were sounded, and two lines drew up facing each other as if in preparation for a pitched battle. When the leaders rode out to parlay, all were smiling—all, that is, except Queen Bronwynn. She looked at Syth and addressed him sharply. "Where's Rosha?"
Syth's eyes widened, his only admission of surprise, but his smile stayed fixed and even grew warmer. "Your husband said you were direct--"
"Where is he?"
"That's a lengthy tale and a bit of a secret—"
"Tell it," Bronwynn snarled. She felt very much a queen this day and quite hostile. Syth looked around at his allies, then slowly turned back to face her. He got off his horse and started to walk away. "Where are you going?" Bronwynn called, her voice charged with annoyance.
"I said it was a secret. Come walking and I'll tell you."
Bronwynn looked at Joss, who gazed back impassively. She flung herself down from her saddle and walked quickly to Syth's side. Those left behind tried to appear disinterested as they strained to hear whatever bits of the conversation they might. They all heard Bronwynn emit a bark of outrage and saw her face turn red with rage. They heard nothing more.
"He's safe," Syth was whispering. "Much safer than either of us, at present."
"How do you know?" Bronwynn spat.
"Because it's my wife who's protecting him, that's why!" Syth growled back, mostly for show. He wasn't really angry. Rosha had anticipated Bronwynn's response and had tried to prepare him for it, but that had really been unnecessary. This was just like talking with Mar-Yilot. "And you can drive that jealousy right out of your head. It was my idea."
"Yours!"
"Our frontal assault will be suicidal unless they're successful. That is what you came for, isn't it? To aid Rosha in his cause?"
Bronwynn hesitated a moment at that, then snapped, "Of course."
"Good. Then why don't we map out our general strategy with the rest of the group? But keep quiet on Rosha's whereabouts. I trust my people and I'm sure you trust yours, but it's a treacherous age. Agreed?"
"Agreed." Bronwynn nodded, a little miffed at how easily he was handling her.
"One other thing before we join the others."
"Yes?"
"Is Pelmen with you?"
Bronwynn blinked. "No. He was, but we left him behind in Dragonsgate."
"Looking for the other pyramids." Syth nodded. He sounded dismayed.
"Why?" the queen asked.
"Oh. Just hoping."
"Riders!" someone in the ranks shouted, and a trumpet sounded the alarm again, this time in earnest. The two leaders whirled toward the south.
Bronwynn glanced at Syth's face and saw his disbelieving frown. She whipped out her sword and demanded, "Enemies?"
"I don't know!" Syth shouted in honest dismay. "It's either your husband returning far too soon or Admon Faye! Wait!" he called to his archers, who were nocking their arrows. "Wait until we know for certain who it is!"
The lead rider wore the colors of Dorlyth mod Karis. The rest were arrayed as freed men, in colors of their own choosing. They drew up some thirty yards distant, and the lead rider tore off his helmet and scowled at them. "What's the matter with you, Syth? Haven't we fought against one another enough for you to recognize me?"
Syth looked at Bronwynn in joyful surprise, but she was no longer beside him. She'd thrown her sword aside and was racing to greet her father-in-law with open arms. Dorlyth climbed painfully from his saddle, but he was still strong enough to grab her off her feet and swing her around like a child. The Golden Throng was perplexed beyond measure, but the army of the north greeted this sight with a loud huzzah. As Bronwynn and Dorlyth strolled arm-in-arm back to the beaming Syth, the Throng, too, began cheering enthusiastically. They didn't know what, but evidently something wonderful had happened.
"Dorlyth!" Syth shouted above the din. "I thought you were dead!"
"So did your wife, apparently," Dorlyth said with a slight smile, and Syth covered his eyes in symbolic embarrassment.
"She was fooled," he offered apologetically as he pulled his hand away. "She thought Pelmen had put a spell on me."
"So she told us." Dorlyth nodded. "But here you are, so I judge she learned of her error, and here am I, so it wasn't quite as costly as you may have thought. And here you are as well!" Dorlyth grinned, hugging his daughter-in-law close.
Bronwynn smiled shyly, but didn't pull away. She felt none of that need to establish independence that had marred her last meeting with Pelmen, nor did she project any of her current ill-will toward her husband on Rosha's father. She'd not seen Dorlyth for years, but she'd loved him from a distance as a model of what her Rosha hoped to become, and as family. "Does Rosha know you're here?"
Dorlyth frowned. "I don't know the first thing about Rosha. Nor, for that matter, about you, or this army, or Syth, or what's been happening. I've been back at my castle trying to recover from a fire ring and I'm still not able to get around as well as I'd like."
"But how are you here at all?" Syth begged.
Dorlyth turned and pointed at his mount. "You see that horse? It used to be Pelmen's, and—"
"Minaliss?" Bronwynn asked, twirling out of Dorlyth's embrace and staring back at the horse. "It is!"
"Smart animal," Dorlyth said. "Came around through the fire, somehow, and found me. I managed to get up across his back and he carried me to my castle. I've been recuperating ever since then, but I got word from one of my people that an army was coming through Dragonsgate." Dorlyth propped his fists on his hips. "I am the Jorl of the Westmouth, you realize, sworn to defend the realm against intruders." He looked at Bronwynn.
She met his eyes evenly. "Am I an intruder?" she asked frankly.
"My Lady," Dorlyth said, "at this point I'm just glad there's someone around who's willing to come help us with this quar-
rel." He looked at Syth. "The Mar's been mustered on top of the High Plateau. Belra's been destroyed. I hear rumors that I can't make any sense of at all. I'm here to join you, although I can't offer much."
"You bring us a great deal, just by offering your presence," Syth responded warmly. "As to whether it will be enough— shall we all go and find out?"
Minutes later the allied armies were marching together toward the High Fortress. They hadn't a hope of conquering it— all of them knew that well. But if they didn't make the effort, there would be nothing left worth hoping for. At least, in this, they found purpose, and when hope was gone, purpose was a worthwhile substitute.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Baying Hounds
WITH THE fanatical courage that was sometimes born of terror, Terril drove his tiny body up the sheer face of the cliff. He had ridden the cold winter air currents all the way from Sythia and emotionally he was frozen. Suddenly he saw a window in the High Fortress looming up before him, and he shot through it with a triumphant buzz. His feet, human again at last, hit the floor.
Naturally, Flayh knew the moment Terril arrived. As the shivering wizard sat by a fire slurping soup straight from the bowl, a squat brigand tapped Terril on the shoulder. "The Lord Flayh wants to see you," he mumbled. "Follow me."
Terril didn't argue. He refilled his bowl from a steaming pot and followed the slaver down the hallway. The man ushered him into a room, then left. Terril took another draught of his soup before looking around. He suddenly noticed he wasn't alone. "Joooms?" he said, eyeing the hook-nosed man seated by the wall.
"Hello, Twin-killer," Joooms responded.
The lizard's superior tone of voice made Terril bristle. "What arc you doing here?" he snapped angrily, annoyed at how swiftly Joooms could make him feel incompetent.
Jooom shrugged. "The same thing you are, I assume."
"Enlarging your treasury?" Terril sneered. Joooms's greediness was legendary.
"A little." The dark shaper nodded. "Though I'm more concerned with preserving the lives of my family. But of course, family ties don't matter much to you, do they. Twin-killer?"
Weary or not, an affront was an affront and not to be tolerated. Terril hurled a ball of flame at Joooms's head, only to have it bounce harmlessly away at a wave of the lizard's hand. "Come, Terril. Can't you be a little more creative?" Joooms i stood and swivelled around to face his attacker. The two shapers would have begun then in earnest, had Flayh not appeared suddenly between them. They both leaped backward in shock. This was not an image, a projection thrown down by a shaper still above. This was the small sorcerer himself.
Flayh smiled gloatingly, and looked from one astonished wizard to the other. Then he shrugged, as if this feat were nothing. In fact, it was incredible.
"My Lord Flayh," Joooms said, bowing graciously with one knee to the floor. "You've taken us completely by surprise."
"Welcome, Lord Flayh," Terril muttered, imitating Jooom's polished charm.
"Hello, Terril. Welcome back. I hope you've brought me some usable information. I thought I'd pop down and hear it before you two kill each other."
"A minor misunderstanding," Joooms said smoothly, and Terril nodded vigorous agreement.
"I hope so. It matters little to me what you do to one another after the war is won; but until that time, try to stay out of each other's way. Otherwise, one of you will doubtless destroy the other, and I'd be forced to kill the survivor. That would all be a terrible waste."
"Surely you don't actually need us," Joooms suggested with a quiet smile. "With tugoliths to trample on the armies that
attack you, and your own remarkable powers to counter shaper assaults, what good can we do you?"
"You think my powers formidable?" Flayh asked. He appeared genuinely pleased.
"Of course," Joooms answered, his dark eyes fixed unflinchingly on Flayh's disfigured countenance, his voice oily with charm. "Never have I beheld such a feat as I've just witnessed. Have you, Twin-killer?" He didn't wait for Terril's response but went quickly on, "Can you tell us how it's done?"
Flayh's eyes lidded slightly, and he gazed contemptuously at Joooms.
"Of course." Joooms nodded. "Trade secrets. But since your shaping is so demonstrably superior to ours, can't you release us from your service? Your victory is assured."
"Patience, Joooms," Flayh said. "Your children aren't far, and they aren't suffering. A few more days and, as you say, the victory will be assured. But it would make me nervous to think either of you were out there unattached, so to speak. Besides, I need your counsel. You've both battled Pelmen and Mar-Yilot, and I want to draw upon your experience."
Joooms chuckled. "I'll be little help to you there. While I've successfully eluded them both, I've never defeated either of them." The dark man frowned sharply and raised his voice. "Come, Lord Flayh, speak frankly! You know as well as we that what you've just done is impossible! The pair you battle are the best, and by their pairing are more frightful than any shaper force I ever faced, but surely they tremble before you, who can be anywhere you will!"
"Not anywhere. Not yet," Flayh muttered. "The range of my movement is small yet. But it should be sufficient, you think?"
"Without question," Joooms snorted.
Flayh looked at Terril. "And you? You agree?"
"My Lord Flayh," Terril answered wearily, "you know that 1 would surrender without a fight."
"Of course," Flayh snorted. "You already did. But Pelmen did not. Nor did Mar-Yilot. What news, man! What can I expect?"
Terril took a deep breath. "Syth has marched to Tuckad, where he gathers his armies. The son of Dorlyth rides with him. Mar-Yilot lingers in Sythia to cover her lover, and I doubt
she'll venture anything save that. Your spell upon Syth terrified her."
"Yet that spell didn't hold. Syth raises an army against me! What about this woman with the healing touch?"
"You know about that?"
"Naturally I know!" Flayh barked. "Did you think yourself my only pair of eyes in the north? Where is she? If she travels with Syth, then magical attacks upon him would be useless, freeing Mar-Yilot to work her mischief! Speak!"
"She's gone!" Terril blurted out. "She left with Pelmen on some strange quest over a week ago!"
"What quest?" Flayh asked.
Terril trembled. "I could never obtain the details."
Flayh gazed at him a moment, somewhat disinterestedly, rather as a man might regard a chicken he's about to behead. "Where were they going?" he asked casually. "Or did you miss that as well?"
"I... don't know."
Flayh smiled slightly. "I know where Pelmen is. He travels with an army from Chaomonous that passed through Dragons-gate three days ago."
"With Queen Bronwynn?" Terril asked earnestly. "It's her army Syth plans to join!"
"Which means?" Flayh inquired in bored tones.
'That Pelmen and this witch healer will be together again with Syth..."
"Freeing Mar-Yilot to act." Flayh grunted. "And I believe you've told me something of this young queen, as well?"
"She's a shaper," Terril murmured, recalling the rolling inferno that ended his dream of dominating Chaomonous.
Flayh turned to the dark wizard. "You see, Joooms, why I need you. I have potentially three shapers aligned against me, two certainly. And while I may have superior power, I lack tactical training. I fear nothing from these armies. The tugoliths will demolish them on the plain. Should any warriors succeed by chance in eluding the beasts and getting up the Down Road, they'll face King Pahd and the rather colorful assemblage that continues to muster in the city—the cream of the Mar, I'm told?" He raised an inquiring eyebrow, and Joooms nodded:
"There are many good warriors among Pahd's supporters."
"Fine. Certainly no one could penetrate that cordon to face
my own castle guard and their hideous leader. Excepting, of course, a shaper. A shaper could neutralize my war beasts, perhaps even neutralize Pahd's army. We can't allow that to happen, Joooms. If that happens, I'm afraid your children will suffer. And we don't want that."
Joooms's brown eyes were expressionless—which in fact
expressed a great deal. "No, Lord Flayh. We would not."
"Very well then. Suppose you tell me what I may expect?"
Joooms and Terril exchanged a quick look of mutual dismay.
How could they teach a powerful novice to free his imagination?
Joooms took a deep breath, but never got any farther. He was
interrupted by a horrible sound that made all of them slam their
hands over their ears and shut their eyes. It was like the baying
of thousands of dogs. When it ceased at last and Joooms and
Terril opened their eyes, Flayh had disappeared.
"What do you do next?" Serphimera asked.
"I don't know," Pelmen replied honestly. He had arranged the six pyramids in a hexagram on the cavern floor and now stepped back to survey them. Serphimera pulled her robe more tightly around her shoulders and shivered. The freezing wind only blew a little colder outside.
"You have no idea where to begin?"
"None." The word boomed through the cavern more loudly than he'd intended. Had he been more attentive to his wife, he might have noticed how this clipped utterance added to her chill. His attention remained fixed on the diamonds before him, however, as he sat quietly and waited.
Serphimera watched his face. She saw the intensity, the resolve in his clenched jaw, and the confident anticipation glittering in his eyes. While he didn't know the secret that would fuse these fragments into a single magnificent gem, he knew far more than had Sheth, that wondrous wizard of times past. He knew he couldn't do this by his own power and that he didn't need to try. Sheth's contribution was lodged within them, evidenced by their strange blue radiance. There was no need now for Pelmen's shaper skill—a good thing, since he'd always been a user of the shaper's craft, not a scholar of it. His contribution had nothing to do with magic. Rather, he was to furnish the one element the weapon had lacked when first it had been formed. Pelmen provided the faith.
