The Power and the Prophet, page 5
here—"
"Nor did I," Joss said quickly. He stepped over the bench to seat himself between two of the brothers. "I didn't learn until this morning of the arrival of your elusive guest." The
general's hard eyes locked with Pelmen's. "I came to greet him in the name of my queen."
Pelmen nodded. "Hello, General. I've never seen you looking so splendid."
Joss glanced down at his fancy trappings. "I personally find this outfit repugnant. However, it goes along with the office. I'm willing to make the sacrifice for Chaomonous." The general studied Pelmen's peasant garb and said, "I see you've kept your same tailor." Pelmen laughed at that, and the general permitted himself a brief smile. These two men had long been adversaries. Joss was working hard to establish cordial relations.
"1 wonder, Lord Ambassador, how you learned that I was here?"
"He has his sources," Erri said as he took another spoonful of pudding.
"I find it expedient to keep informed. Pelmen, I have an urgent message for you from our queen." "What is it?"
"You want me to tell you here?" "Is it a state secret?"
Joss blinked. "Perhaps, perhaps not. I'm just unaccustomed to revealing private messages in a public place." "This is where you found me. What is it?" Joss frowned. Then he lowered his voice and spoke. "Young Rosha has left Chaomonous. The queen requests that you seek him out and return him to the court."
Pelmen raised his eyebrows. Rosha's action didn't surprise him, but Bronwynn's response to it did. "Return him? Didn't he tell her where he was going?" "He left without a word." "Sounds like his father." "Do you know where he is?"
"Not exactly, but I can guess. He's gone to find Dorlyth. Surely Bronwynn knows that."
"The queen is concerned for his safety," the general said.
"Shall I inform her that he is all right?" He smiled humorlessly.
"You know that I can't say that. Rosha's gone to war."
Joss leaned across the rough table and spoke with a quiet
intensity. "Then I urge you to seek him out. The queen is
distraught without him and naturally assumes the worst. If he's
not located soon, she'll disregard all our advice and organize an army to go after him. I think you realize that Chaomonous can ill afford another war at this time." The general sat back then, his face assuming that expression of stony resolve used by leaders challenging their troops. "Consider this an act in defense of your country."
Erri smiled, though he didn't intend to. "You speak as if
Pclmen is a Chaon."
"Isn't he?"
"I think we of Lamath might justifiably lay claim to him as well. Then again, so could the Maris, and if he goes to Ngandib-Mar, I'm sure they will. Pelmen? What will you do?"
Pelmen pondered this question, reviewing his options. He realized he didn't have that many. Serphimera wasn't here and evidently hadn't been here, so his search was at a standstill. Flayh's influence surrounded him. He could wait here and battle the sorcerer with Erri, or he could go to the Mar in search of Rosha and be sucked into the battle there. Somehow it made more sense to engage Flayh in the sinister shaper's own region. Who could know? Perhaps Serphimera was locked in Flayh's dungeon. His lady had a penchant for walking into trouble. Pelmen's eyes flicked up to meet the general's gaze. "I'll go
find him."
Erri sighed. "And probably find a battle as well."
"I will if he's joined his father. Wars follow Dorlyth like clawsps chase sugar."
"More magic!" Em grunted with disfavor.
"I know you don't approve."
"There's much more to it than my disapproval—"
Joss interrupted them. "Then I may relay the word that your search has begun?"
Pelmen nodded. "You may. I'll not have time to inform her myself. But you'd better tell her to be patient. If he's gone to fight a war, he's not likely to leave until it's over."
"If she knows you are with him, perhaps she'll feel comforted," Joss said as he stood to leave. Then he bowed slightly. "For the sake of both my queen and my country. I thank you." He bowed to Erri. "Good day. Prophet." Then he stepped over the bench again and left quickly.
"Is it necessary that you go?" Erri asked quietly. "Can't
"Against any other warrior, yes. Against the powershapers of Ngandib-Mar, he hasn't a chance. Nor does Dorlyth. I've been delaying the inevitable, Erri. I've got to face Flayh."
"You'll be killed."
"That's always a possibility—"
"You've heard my warning," Erri said sternly. "Rather than rushing off to shape these other powers, I wish you'd wait here until the Power shapes you!"
"Perhaps the Power is shaping me, my friend," Pelmen said
quietly.
Erri's eyes narrowed in surprise, then he looked away, studying the far wall of the room in puzzlement. Finally he shrugged, and nodded. "I'd offer you a horse, but I know you'd rather fly."
"I'd rather ride." Pelmen grinned. "It's getting on toward winter! It gets cold enough up on those wind currents to freeze your tail feathers!"
"I wouldn't know about that, never having had any tail
feathers."
"But thank you for reminding me. I'll drop by the stables and greet my old friend Minaliss before I go."
"Your horse!" Erri said, his eyes widening in remembrance, then turning sad. "I neglected to tell you. He broke out of his stall about two weeks ago. I'm sorry, Pelmen. I sent a group of riders to retrieve the horse, but they simply couldn't catch him."
Pelmen's eyes dropped to the tabletop. "Well. I'm sorry too." He smiled wistfully. "Seems like all my friends are leaving me."
The prophet looked up sharply and frowned. "Oh, no. It's you who are leaving me."
"Yes. But I leave you in good hands," Pelmen said as he stood to go. Erri caught him by the sleeve and pulled him down to whisper:
"What about this pyramid our friend brought us?" Pelmen frowned. "Hide it. Guard it carefully. If the Power chose to send it, it must have some importance."
Erri nodded, then said, "Do me a favor. Don't change into a bird until you're out of the city square. I spend enough of my time explaining you as it is."
Pelmen laughed. "It's a promise!" Then he stepped over the
bench and pushed through the crowd, leaving Erri to mutter
about there never being enough time to get everything said.
Pelmen took no notice of the fat little man sitting by himself at the table nearest the door. Nor did the disguised merchant see him. In the presence of free food, Pezi heeded no man.
Lord Syth rode hard for the gates of Seriliath, his cape billowing back over the hindquarters of his war horse. In his train raced a dozen other riders, all cloaked in capes of the same blue and gray, wearing expressions identical to that of their master. A frown masked Syth's handsome features, and they all saw it frequently, for he tossed worried looks behind them with every passing mile. They were not being chased— at least, not that they knew. But all save Syth believed they'd made a terrible mistake in traveling the roads today. It was common knowledge among them that Mar-Yilot was in the Seriliath tower, casting spells in search of Pelmen. That meant they weren't being covered.
"Open it!" Syth bellowed as the small troop pounded down a ridge and back up toward the massive gates. His words could not have been heard over the clatter of steel-shod hooves on the granite highway, but the huge doors swung inward anyway. Syth did not slacken his pace. He shot through the gap like a missile from a catapult. He didn't pause to acknowledge the gatekeepers' cheers, nor even seem to hear them. But cheer they did, as their returned city lord drove his stallion up the steep, narrow street that led to the palace.
The noise of his arrival alerted the shopkeepers and tradesmen. These stood in their doorways and added their voices. Shutters flew open above them and still others joined in the tumultuous welcome. Syth mod Syth-el, Lord Seriliath and rightful Jorl of the Isles, had returned at last from his island home. He'd come to rejoin those rebel chieftains who had chosen him to lead them against the king. The people of Seriliath loved Syth, as their hearty welcome attested. But though they loved her less, they were far more fascinated by Mar-Yilot, his wife. They all craned their necks, searching for some sign of her. When she didn't appear, they all assumed that the rumors were true—that the Autumn Lady was already in the city, and waited with the others in the palace. Naturally, no
one had seen her arrive. She traveled where she willed on
butterfly wings. But it was always a thrill to learn that the auburn-haired shaper was among them again.
As he pounded through the final gate into the palace courtyard, Syth's anxious expression hardened into a proud, victorious smile. Behind his back his retainers exchanged smiles of mutual relief. For the first time this day, they could all breathe easy once again.
Syth cocked his head to look up at the battlements, but no noble flags fluttered there. He'd expected none. It wasn't wise to advertise one's location in a time of war. As he walked his horse into the stables, however, he saw the livery of the two waiting lords hanging from the rafters. His smile grew wider. He walked briskly through the main door, nodding at fawning servants and snapping off orders. In a half hour he had bathed and shaved. He was donning a fish-satin dressing gown in preparation for greeting his guests, when he was himself visited.
"You're here today?" Mar-Yilot asked quietly.
He wheeled around and saw her standing by the drapes. He reached out to touch her, then saw the aura of orange light surrounding her and stopped himself. "Why don't you come on down?"
"I'm busy."
"Still hunting Pelmen?"
"And not finding him."
"I don't think you're going to," Syth said as he tied the sash around his waist.
"I thought we agreed you would come tomorrow, when I could cover you." Her obvious aggravation didn't surprise him.
"I didn't agree to anything. It doesn't matter anyway, because I'm here."
"You could have been killed."
"But I wasn't. Which tells me a couple of things..."
"It tells you nothing," she snapped.
"... about the road. First, it's free. I encountered no opposition, either from the king or Dorlyth's band of peculiar patriots, so—"
"Dorlyth and Ferlyth are in the glade of mod Carl."
Syth's eyes widened and he smiled appreciatively. "Good! Then we know we can travel south without fear of—"
"You know nothing!" she repeated, more forcefully this time. "You're guessing, and guessing is for fools!"
Syth deflected her scolding with a confident smile. She'd been chiding him since they were children, and he was used to it. "It is, at least, an educated guess, reinforced by my personal surveillance of the Nethermar Road."
"You were lucky."
"Aren't I always?" he asked, grinning at her. She didn't smile.
"As I said, while I did find Dorlyth, I did not locate Pelmen. He could have tracked you here!"
"Possible, but 1 don't think so. I don't think the falcon is anywhere near." He ignored her sigh of exasperation. "I attribute all this manipulation of the powers to Flayh, and not to—"
"Why! Why do you keep insisting on that!"
"Because I, my dear, listen to the rumors that are muttered in the alleyways. While you're fluttering around on your butterfly wings, I'm dodging the mud holes and talking to people!"
It was an old argument, one they reopened each time they faced a battle and disagreed on how to fight it. She shook her head. "I won't believe it until I see it."
"That's what I'm afraid of! You'll be so intent on finding Pelmen you won't see the new danger until it's too late!"
"The real danger is Pelmen," Mar-Yilot said with a deadly drone. "1 nearly conquered him the last time we battled. This time I'll not fail."
"I don't know what excites you more—fighting Pelmen or loving me!" Syth said it half-jokingly. Mar-Yilot would not dignify the comment with a reply. "Listen," he pleaded, "none of these acts bear Pelmen's seal. All of you shapers have a certain style, and this talk of red-eyed demons and a resurrected Vicia-Heinox doesn't sound like Pelmen at all!"
"They sound like an upstart merchant?" she asked flatly.
"They do. Like this merchant. And what I think I learned on the road is significant..."
"What you guessed," the shimmery figure corrected.
"All right, what I guessed. And this is it: I think Flayh didn't attack me because he's as worried about Pelmen as you are and he's looking elsewhere!"
She refused to be moved by his dramatic pronouncement. "So?"
"So tomorrow I'm leading our army south. I want to do battle with King Pahd before Flayh realizes Pelmen's not a threat—and sends his black dogs after us."
Her golden eyes revealed no anger, no fear, nor in fact any emotion. She regarded him calmly, inscrutable as a cat. "And what do you expect of me?"
"You could cover us, maybe." He smiled sardonically. "That might be nice." She gazed at him, unblinking. "Or you could get ready to toss a gale at the foot of the Ngandib Plateau, minor Flayh's terror spell back at him, or whatever else you choose. You're the shaper. I'll leave that up to you."
"Will you?" she said cuttingly. Then she began to fade away.
"Mar-Yilot, come on down now, will you?"
She stopped her disappearance long enough to answer, "Maybe later.'' Then she was gone—or rather, that projected part of herself had rejoined her body in the tower that soared above.
"Witch," Syth muttered. He said it with deep affection.
The dogs came in after dusk, their long red tongues lolling lazily over glistening fangs. They slunk through the alleyways of the city of Lamath, moving in slowly like a horrible black mist. Those who chanced to see them ran shrieking homeward, locking their doors behind them, for these were no ordinary dogs. Their black coats had no glossy sheen, but rather seemed to suck light in and swallow it. Nor did their eyes reflect that nearly human sensibility cherished by dog lovers. Instead they glowed with red-orange evil, as if these canine heads were merely skull masks with eye-slits, revealing fires burning within in the place of brains. Then the howling began.
If the look of these beast-clad demons was horrid, the empty sound of their baying was even more so. Lamathians all around the vast perimeter of the city reacted in panic, hiding in basements or under beds. Others left their houses, fleeing the deathly howls and racing away from the circling packs toward the center of the city. Flayh had made his move.
Pezi had been at the table since midday and had eaten all the way through the afternoon into suppertime. He had paused to look up only once, when a woman he thought he recognized
had come into the hall and gone to the head table to talk with the little prophet fellow. She was a petite brunette, and Pezi thought she looked like one of the cute merchant wives from the castle of Uda in Ngandib-Mar. He'd decided it couldn't be, however. She was wearing one of the light blue robes that seemed to be the rage in this very religious land. He'd forgotten her completely when they brought out the evening mutton.
He was working on a steaming slab of it when the panic began. At first there was only an annoying baying and some distant screams. These puzzled him, but he didn't become alarmed until he heard the clatter of hoofbeats outside the meeting hall's doors. Suddenly the room filled with initiates from every sector of the city, all waving their arms and shouting wildly as they raced to Erri's table. Pezi watched as Erri calmed them and appointed one to tell the story. "Dogs!" the man shouted. "The city is ringed by slavering dogs with huge teeth and fires for eyes! Great mobs are pouring into the city square outside! Listen, Prophet!" The messenger hushed, and the horrified screams from outside were clearly audible throughout the room.
"It's Flayh, obviously," Erri said. "He and the royal family have chosen to make this the night. And if Pelmen had only..." The prophet trailed off.
Pezi wrinkled his nose in concern. Any mention of Pelmen
made him feel very uncomfortable.
Erri was shouting. "Don't just stand there!" he said to his initiates. "Start bothering the Power with petitions!"
Eating interested Pezi. Praying didn't. And since he knew these dogs were indeed from Flayh, and that they were surely heading for this very hall, he did the only sensible thing—he kicked over his bench and dashed for the double doors.
The streets were filled with screaming people, and Pezi soon joined them, also screaming at the top of his lungs. A pack of the black hounds rounded the comer a hundred yards away, and he bolted for safety.
He ran shrieking down an alleyway, certain a dog would leap from every darkened corner to tear out his throat. None did. In fact, for all their howling, Pezi had yet to see one of the beasts actually spring at anyone. But he reasoned that if he were a hungry dog, he'd pick somebody fat and slow to pounce
on. Since he fitted that description so perfectly, Pezi could not allow himself to rest. He waddled breathlessly onward.
Despite his panic, there was a pattern to his flight. He picked his alleys well, seeking those that would lead him closer to the prize that had lured him to Lamath in the first place. He made his way to the tugolith pits. He was planning to kidnap some monsters.
It was, on the face of it, a ludicrous idea. But given Pezi's present circumstances and the childlike nature of the beasts he planned to steal, it all made perverse sense. Pezi was out of favor with his uncle Flayh—a dangerous state to remain in for very long. He needed to pull off some coup to restore himself to Flayh's good graces, and the gift of a herd of gigantic beasties seemed to be just the thing.
The trouble was, Pezi knew nothing of his uncle's plans. He'd expected some activity in Lamath, but nothing in this scale! Flayh was going all out to topple the prophet, evidently planning to replace him with that dolt of a princeling from the royal family. The dogs were to panic the populace—a very effective ruse, Pezi noted with a shiver. He noticed fires had been started—by the royalist supporters, no doubt. But how was all of this to turn the tide against the prophet?
