The Prophet Of Lamath

by Hughes, Robert Don

  "I hate him," Vicia whispered ferociously. This audible hostility echoed down the canyon walls of the pass, bereft of vegetation from repeated displays of dragon temper.

  "I hate the Player-I hate him!" Heinox said in unanimity with his twin. The dragon had slept only fitfully for two days. He had spent every waking moment since the encounter with Pelman in chaotic dialogue between his two heads. Neither head could admit the possibility of its twin being a separate entity. Each head struggled vainly to re-establish that total rapport so lately taken for granted. But each sought to re-establish that state under its own control. Self-consciousness had robbed 50 Vicia-Heinox of his coordination, his personal unity, and his peace. It would seem only natural that in his frustration the dragon would come to hate that one who had driven a wedge between himselves. And the dragon was frustrated. As a unit or as a pair, Vicia-Heinox was the largest concentrated living mass of frustration in existence at that moment, and the inevitable explosion of that frustration into human injury and property damage only awaited some marginal agreement as to where he should begin.

  "I'll destroy Chaomonous. Burn the city to cinders.

  Turn it into a wasteland." "Why should I choose Chaomonous?" "That's where the Player came from, isn't it?" "I don't know where he came from. I only know he went to Ngandib-Mar, and I think I ought to lay waste to every castle and eat every villager in the whole of the highlands! Surely I would manage to come across that Player in the process!" "And when I get him-oh, what I'll do to him!" Heinox rasped maliciously, his eyes glittering in evil anticipation.

  "Yes-this is what I'll do!" said Vicia, and he began to catalogue once more all the terrible torments he would inflict on Pelman, once he had the Player in delicious captivity.

  "I already said what I would do to him," Heinox interrupted. He had no wish to precipitate another quarrel, but why did this other head take such delight in aggravating him? "I know I have already said what I would do to the annoying human! I'm just reviewing it for my entertainment! Do I mind?" "Yes I mind! I'm not entertained!" "I am, I said!" Vicia spoke with great deliberation, exhibiting super-dragon patience with this vexatious appendage who seemed to consider himself the true seat of dragon control. He raised above Heinox and looked down at his rival threateningly. Then he shook with rage as he heard Heinox repeating yet another time the question that had for days been stealing every fragment of the dragon's once-fabled intrapersonal tranquility.

  "Why is it that I can't just say a thing without my having to echo it? Why is it that I can't just agree to cooperate anymore? Why this constant internal bickering? Can't I see I am making myself very sick?" Heinox had risen to Vicia's level, and was now eyeball to eyeball with him. Vicia boiled.

  "Am I implying that this is my fault?" "I certainly am!" Vicia roared. Surely no dragon, ever, anywhere, had been forced to take this kind of obnoxious nonsense from himself. It had gone beyond the limits of his endurance. With a scream so fierce that it would certainly have brought tears to the eyes of even the most insensitive of ogres, Vicia jetted to his fullest extension, then plummeted, jaws agape, to seize the armored neck of Heinox just behind the ears and shake it savagely. Of course, he immediately let go, for the pain registered throughout the whole dragon body. In short, Vicia-Heinox bit himself, and it hurt terribly. It even bled a gallon or two. The dragon left his feet, fluttering a few hundred yards above the ground, waiting for the pain to pass and howling pitifully. It was the first pain the dragon could remember feeling since-since he could remember feeling! No mere weapon could break through the mail-like armor of his reptilian skin. But dragonteeth! What substance could withstand the native keenness of such powerful incisors? The dragon settled back to earth, and Heinox turned to his more reckless companion. "I hope I won't be so stupid as to try that again," he said acidly.

  "I hope I won't either," agreed the chastened Vicia. "Why did I do it?" "I suppose I just got sick of myself. I'm not really surprised, though I didn't think I was quite so stupid." Vicia whipped angrily around and pushed himself into Heinox' pouting face. "And I never realized I was so obnoxious!" Heinox chose not to reply, fearing another attack from this lunatic who seemed to share his body. Though the pain was subsiding by this time, Vicia bent to lick the wound he had inflicted.

  "I wish I wouldn't do that," Heinox complained. "That rough tongue is not the slightest bit soothing." "Why don't I go stick myself in a hole in the ground?" Vicia shouted back. They glowered at one another for a full minute. Then, tiring, both sank down to rest in the dust, and to think bad thoughts about the other.

  "I hate Pelman," Vicia whispered. There was silence for half an hour or so.

  "I feel a little sorry for the people in the next caravan," Heinox observed finally.

  "Why?" "Because I'm going to eat every last one of them just for spite." The afternoon shadows lengthened, and the pass darkened as the line of the sun retreated up the face of the eastern cliff. But even when the sun was completely gone, the darkness at the bottom of that canyon was no match for the black bile in the depths of the angry dragon's seething soul.

  Chapter Three

  "I WISH I could read their minds," Pelman sighed. He stood before a large window in the greater tower of Doriyth Castle, gazing east across green fields wet with morning dew. Though it was nearing midmorning there was still little light; it was a gray day, and a chill hung in the air. A draft blew into the room, causing Doriyth to shiver.

  "You can't, though," he rumbled in his thick, hoarse bass. "So why don't you close that drape before I catch pneumonia?" Doriyth took another sip of a steaming fruit drink that was his morning addiction and waved Pelman toward a chair.

  Pelman smiled, shook his head, and let the heavy tapestry drapes fall shut to block the wind. The flames that struggled to bring light to this dark interior nickered, then burned up again brightly. Pelman wrapped his purple robe around him and settled back into a feather-stuffed chair. If anyplace was home to the traveling player, this place was. He felt very content and relaxed, for he loved the company of this friend. At the same time he felt a keen responsibility to move swiftly on. He had no wish to involve Doriyth in his problems. Certainly the merchant houses were trailing him by this time. When they arrived, he and the girl should be long gone. The question was, to where? What kind of plan had he upset by confusing the dragon? Who was behind it, and what did they intend to gain? "You're thinking again," Doriyth growled good naturedly. "Haven't I told you I forbid that in my house?" Doriyth took another long, hot sip. He was comfortably wrapped in a rug of thickest bear fur, and he lay stretched out on the padded couch he had slept on. He was a big man, much in character and appearance like that very bear whose skin now warmed him. His face was broad, his nose flat, his eyes very large and very brown. The rest of his face seemed shrouded in fur, for he was a very hairy man. His hair was bushy, almost kinky, of the shining honey-blond color so characteristic of Ngandib-Mar. His beard matched his hair in every detail but for a tuft of gray right under his lower lip. Pelman enjoyed teasing him about that gray streak, but Doriyth rather liked the distinctive little tuft. He said it lent some human dignity to his otherwise animal-like appearance.

  He was smiling at Pelman, but his eyebrows reflected the weight of his concern for his friend. Pelman had entangled himself in another potentially catastrophic situation; as always, he seemed to be enjoying it a little too much. The man was a magnet of curious and fateful events. Long though he had tried, Doriyth had never been able to convince Pelman that his abilities were most needed here, in Ngandib-Mar. Instead, the man seemed to wander the earth, actively seeking new entanglements. Invariably he found them.

  "If only I could find some key that would tie this all together. It makes no sense to see this as just an isolated incident in the ever-continuing struggle for control of the Chaon throne." "What else could it be?" Dorlyth asked. "From what you've told me, this is how I figure it. The house of Ognadzu makes a deal with the King's mistress to kidnap the sole heir to the thron
e. The King rages, sends his soldiers to recapture her but fails, eventually losing track of the girl altogether. His dynasty threatened, his potency in question, he finally divorces his now barren Queen to marry the mistress, not realizing she laid the plot. The mistress favors Ognadzu, and eventually that house becomes more influential in Chaomonous than ever. It would then recoup any losses suffered as a result of participation in the kidnap, and with interest. It's simple. So forget it. Have a grape or something, stop making me think this early in the day." "That just doesn't sound like Ognadzu. Far too risky for Flayh. What if the mistress, once on the throne, decided to bum the past, forgetting the deal with Ognadzu? What recourse would that family have?" "I don't know. Maybe they have something over the mistress we don't know about. We don't know her loyalties." "Yes we do," said Pelman, raising his eyebrows knowingly. "Ligne has powerful loyalties, but they are extremely limited-they include only herself. Oh, I'm sure Ligne probably sees the plan just as you present it. But I can't believe that is the total picture. I think it's bigger than that." "So it's bigger," Dorlyth frowned. "So what? Why can't you just let well enough alone?" Pelman stood, tenting his fingers before his face and plucking unconsciously at his lips. He began to walk around the room, his slippered feet whispering across the rich red carpet. "It may be the move. It may be their big move, Dorlyth." "You're pacing again. You wear out that rug and you'll pay to replace it." He jerked his cup to his mouth a little too quickly, sloshing hot liquid onto his chin. He muttered something Pelman didn't hear, which was really just as well.

  "It would make sense," Pelman said. "An incident, arranged not just between one house and members of the court, but planned and executed by all the families in secrecy." "Sounds like a lot of trouble to me. Meetings between the houses, deals, compromises-they'd never be able to agree. And what would they have to gain?" "Power," Pelman breathed.

  "Dragon knows, friend, they have plenty of that already! Why should they need more?" "Oh, they don't need it, Dorlyth. That fact doesn't stop their wanting more of it." "But why should they want it? They've already got the world in their shoulder bag." "Why do they want it? I'm a player, Dorlyth, not a philosopher. Don't ask me about why." "You're a good deal more than just a player and you know it. If I could just get you to practice some-" "Don't need any practice, friend. Once you learn . . ." Pelman shrugged.

  "You can still shape?" Dorlyth smiled, sitting up.

  In answer Pelman drew a tiny circle in the air with the thumb of his right hand, then cupped his hand under the circle. Gradually a glow began in that circle which spread and grew until Pelman was holding a ball of lavender flame. He glanced over at Dorlyth, who was still smiling, then with a flick of his wrist tossed the fireball at him.

  Dorlyth ducked beneath his bearskin, shouting. "You crazy-" Then he popped his head back out to see if the couch was on fire.

  "Relax," Pelman soothed, his mind already elsewhere. Dorlyth straightened his covers and glowered at his friend. The expression was wasted, for Pelman had turned back to the window.

  "Well, at least that's something," the hairy man said, after a moment of silence.

  "A parlor trick," Pelman snorted.

  "Which very well could have burned my parlor if you hadn't snuffed it, which makes it a formidable weapon and a useful tool. Pelman, why don't you leave the rest of the world alone and concentrate on this land? I'm sure the merchant houses would be happy to be rid of your annoying presence, and we need you! The Confederation of Lords is so weak the slightest breeze could topple it. I like King Pahd as much as the next man, but I fear he intends to sleep through his entire reign! If you must get involved in politics, get involved here!" "I am involved here, Dorlyth. Can't you get that through your hairy hide? There are changes in the air, my friend, changes for everyone. You surely can't believe that Ngandib-Mar will be unaffected by the bickering between Lamath and Chaomonous-" "We've avoided it before." "We won't this time!" Pelman was angry. Not at Dorlyth, but at the world, and what he saw taking place in it. The world was changing-it was always changing, naturally, but these changes were being accelerated by the plots and counterplots of nations and houses. And the chaos Pelman saw looming on the horizon pleased him not one bit.

  "A suggestion," Dorlyth said, and Pelman looked at him. "Don't ask me how, or why, but I can get in contact with Admon Faye, Talith's slaver. Let's give him the girl to return to her father. May not stop your dread changes, but it could hold them off a little longer." Pelman's eyes were hard. Dorlyth wished he hadn't spoken. "Admon Faye? I can't believe you said that, Dorlyth. Not you." Dorlyth shifted uncomfortably under that cold look.

  "Just a suggestion, that's all." "I would not entrust anyone into the hands of Admon Faye. Not even Flayh himself." Pelman jerked away, and walked to the window to sweep the curtains aside again. When he next spoke, his voice was soft once more. "Besides, my friend, the biggest change has already taken place-and for that I bear the responsibility myself." "The dragon?" Dorlyth asked, and Pelman nodded.

  "The dragon is of a divided mind. The world we have always known is ending." "How can you know that?" "You believe in prophecy?" Pelman inquired, raising his eyebrows.

  Dorlyth snorted. "What do you think?" "I do. This one, anyway." Dorlyth chuckled derisively. "I guess you should, since you're the one who made it!" Pelman smiled sadly, then asked in a mocking voice, "Why do I waste my time with unbelievers?" "That dragon has probably already forgotten that the whole thing even happened." "I don't think so." Pelman sighed, looking out across the land in the direction of Dragonsgate. "And when the word gets out in Lamath, the Dragonfaith will collapse." "I wouldn't go so far as to say that." Dorlyth chuckled, standing to walk around the chair. He laid his large hand on Pelman's shoulder. "From what you tell me, that's a mighty old religion. I wager it won't even be dented." From the field below came the sound of chopping. Pelman looked at Dorlyth, and the old warrior grunted. "The lad again, practicing with his greatsword. Says he wants to be a hero." Dorlyth shook his head, and now he took his own turn at pacing around the room. "I ask him if he knows what the life expectancy of a hero is- he won't listen to me." "Why should he?" Pelman grinned, folding his arms and leaning against the window ledge. "You're still here." "Only because I had the good sense to run when I got into a scrap I couldn't win. I'm not sure he knows how to run." "You never ran from any battle, Dorlyth." "Oh yes I did! I ran from you, don't you remember?" They both laughed, minds replaying memories of long ago. These memories led them inevitably to thoughts of ageing, and each made his way back to a chair. "That was when you dug up that ancient book. Did you ever decipher that thing?" "I did." "What did it say?" This was an old question, one they always argued about. Dorlyth tossed it out casually as he drained the rest of his cup, now gone cold.

  "It led me to Lamath," Pelman said quietly, and Dorlyth bit his lip and examined the cup in his hands.

  Finally he spoke. "What happens when you go there, Pelman? You've never really explained it to me." "I can't explain it to myself," Pelman said. Propping his feet on Dorlyth's couch and lacing his hands behind his head, he leaned back and made an attempt. "You experience the powers?" "Of course I do," Dorlyth grunted. "I just can't shape them as you can." "It is a strange thing, my friend." Pelman now held his hands together at his waist. Dorlyth jumped, for suddenly there was a little brown mouse in those cupped hands, then once again they were empty. He glanced up at Pelman's face, but the man was looking elsewhere-at a place far away, perhaps in Lamath. "I shape the powers here as if they were extensions of my own mind. I think a thing a certain way, and the thing is there, in palpable form. I don't know why, I only know it is. But somewhere in the Great North Fir, as I near the Lamathian border, I stop shaping the powers-and the Power starts shaping me." "Sounds unpleasant." "Then you don't understand. Because it is the sweetest of pleasures-not less because it comes wholly unbidden, and is far beyond my control." "The essence of the dragon gets you?" Dorlyth asked with a sneer.

  Pelman shook his head
patiently. "Has nothing to do With the dragon, Dorlyth. Nothing at all." "This ancient book explains the feeling to you?" Dorlyth asked, striving now to be fair to a thing he didn't understand.

  "Partly. Partly the feeling explains itself." "And that makes you want to go to Lamath-so you can get another charge?" "No. I must go to Lamath someday in order to be who I am there. Whoever that is." "You're Pelman the powershaper, that's all I need to know," Dorlyth thundered, confused by all this and choosing to dismiss it from his mind. "That's good enough for me." "But you see, my friend-that isn't good enough for me." The huge oaken door at the far end of the room slammed open, and Rosha mod Dorlyth stalked in. He carried his scabbarded greatsword on his right shoulder, with his shirt slung over his left. His skin was smooth and slick with sweat, colored a gleaming, burnished brown, the hue of burned butter. He hung the sword on a wall hook and mopped his face with his shirt, then turned his head to grin at Pelman over a sinewy shoulder.

  "Y-you're up," he mumbled happily.

  "Of course I'm up." Pelman smiled back. "You expect me to sleep all day?" Rosha jerked his head up, indicating the upper rooms in the tower. "G-g-girl is." Pelman raised his eyebrows, and looked at Dorlyth, who shrugged, his brown eyes sparkling merrily. "You have some interest in the lady?" Pelman asked innocently. Rosha's face was dark, but even in the dim light of the nickering candles his blush was evident. His expression hardened, his jaws clenched together, and he shook his head. He found a seat at the far end of the room, retrieved the sword, and busied himself with sharpening its already razorlike edge. Pelman looked at Dorlyth again.