"It's time to move," he murmured quietly, and the captain managed a grin between parched lips.
"I'd drink to that-if there was anything to drink." Dorlyth nodded. "A general summons, then. We'll make our plans together." Across fields now a foot and a half deep in grass, Tohn sat waiting for some sign. Finally his patience was rewarded. "Action on the battlements," a soldier informed him through the walls of his tent, and he stepped out into the muggy day to see for himself. There was the crisp, clear note of a horn being blown within the walls of his target, and his wrinkled face cracked open into a smile.
"Blow our own horns, lad," he ordered his squire, and the boy rushed off to deliver the old merchant's instructions. "Now what, Dorlyth?" he said softly, unconsciously fingering the edge of the knife he had been sharpening. He glanced down at the knife; realizing its import, he felt a heaviness come over him. He hid the knife within the folds of his tunic, where it would be easy to reach, and ducked back into the tent to prepare for battle. "Funny," he continued, speaking only to himself, "I used to feel elation when I finally broke a siege. Why is it now I only feel old?" Trumpets began to sound on all sides of him, and he lost himself in the noise and the detail of making ready for battle.
"I wish to see the King," Peri announced, bowing stiffly. It was not a deep bow. Pezi hated deep bows, for he was afraid someday he would bow so deeply he couldn't straighten back up again. He looked neither to right nor left, his face frozen into an official-looking frown. There were certain rules of behavior in the Lamathian court, and Peri had studied them all in preparation for becoming a merchant. He concentrated on remembering all of them now. He realized his career depended on how effectively he carried out Flayh's orders, and that meant he needed to be well received here. But it was difficult for him to keep a confident manner in the rarefied atmosphere of the court of Lamath. It was, of course, no more magnificent than that of Chaomonous-less so-but it was new to Peri, and quite forbidding. The walls were of white marble streaked with veins of blue and coal-black, and they glistened in the light of lamps that burned the purest of olive oil for fuel. Most impressive were the forty-foot dragon statues that guarded every comer and every door. Peri's last meeting with Vicia-Heinox had left unhealed wounds on his psyche. He didn't enjoy being reminded of the monster's existence every forty feet! "You . . . want to see . . . the King," the reply came at length from the vizier of Lamath. When the man said no more, Peri felt a need to fill the silence.
"Yes, I wish to see the King." There was more silence, and the vizier sneered politely. It was permissible to express any emotion in the Lamathian court, as long as it was done politely.
"You!" More silence. This time when Peri opened his mouth the vizier quickly cut him off. "What possible business would you have that would interest the ruler of the entire world?" It was Peri's turn to sneer, but he hadn't mastered politeness. "You might tell the ruler of the world that the King of Chaomonous is preparing to bury him!" The vizier raised an eyebrow, not at the news but at Peri's breach of etiquette. "What a quaint turn of phrase." The vizier smiled. "I am sure you probably believe it to be a true statement, but-"' "It is true. At least fifty thousand Chaons, and they're probably marching across your borders already!" "It is not considered proper to raise one's voice to an official of the Lamathian court." The vizier frowned, both eyebrows raised. It was quite a noticeable gesture, for the vizier was totally bald, and his bushy eyebrows, bright red in color, were the most prominent feature of his otherwise uninteresting face.
Pezi throttled his temper, realizing that his voice had echoed loudly among the pillars and the dragons, and replied more softly, "Pardon my impatience, I just think the King should be informed that his land is under attack." "I'll add that to my list," said the vizier, showing Peri his bald head as he made some illegible scratches on a parchment before him.
"Your list?" Peri asked.
The vizier's head rolled back up slowly, the tiny eyes r locking on Pezi's. "Yes, my list," he sneered. Then he produced something from within his vestments. Pezi saw it was an instrument of some sort that hung around the vizier's neck on a silver chain. The bald official brought it to his lips and blew two notes, one a shrill high whistle, the other thin but sweet. There were at least a dozen doors opening onto this circular room. The one far to Pezi's left now Slammed open and a guard in the livery of Lamath marched across the floor to the vizier's side. "You will go with this man," the vizier said to Pezi, reading another parchment as he spoke.
"To see the King?" Pezi asked brightly. The vizier's eyes shot back up to glare at the fat merchant-but politely, very politely. "Of course not. To see the Chieftain of Defense and Expansion." The vizier turned back to the page he'd been reading, but Pezi risked one last comment. "Will you tell the King he's at war?" The vizier dropped the parchment in polite exasperation; as it fluttered out into the room, he scowled. "I said" he murmured quietly, "it is on my list." At this he turned his back on Pezi and motioned the uniformed guard to take the merchant out. Pezi felt an insistent hand clinch onto his upper arm, and he went along with no further comment.
The guard led him through a maze of halls and doorways; in a matter of minutes he was hopelessly lost. His opinion of the might of Lamath grew at every turn, for nowhere had he ever seen such a wealth of polished marble or more artistically wrought statuary. He was passed from one guard to another, and felt he had walked two miles by the time the last guide in the series turned to motion him into a small, high-ceilinged office. There were two windows, but they were no more than three-inch slits cut through the wall, running from floor to ceiling. Beside them stood baskets of blue-feathered arrows, and bows hung from pegs in the marble walls. Pezi realized this room fronted on the outer walls of the Lamathian palace, and that from this vantage point two good archers could very effectively defend the palace gates below. The Lamathian King at least had the sense to place his best soldier's office where it would be of some practical value.
There was no one in the room, so Pezi seated himself next to a cool wall and waited. He loosened his lime-colored belt, and struggled to get comfortable. It was a humid day in Lamath.
Suddenly a man burst through the doorway, tossed a sheaf of bound parchment onto an already messy desk, and turned to look at Pezi.
"War then," he said. "Where? How many?" "Ah, approximately, ah, fifty thousand-" "Who?" "Ah, ah, Talith of Chaomonous-" "Why?" "Ah, because he thinks you've stolen his daughter-" "Ridiculous. Why would I want to steal his daughter." "Ah, he doesn't think you've stolen his daughter, he-" "Then who?" "Ah, the King of Lamath-" "More ridiculous. Who really took her?" "Ah, ah, how should I know who-" "You're a merchant, merchants know everything. Who took her?" "Ah, I don't think-" "Can't tell me. Very well, where will the attack come?" "I, ah, I really don't know-" "I believe that. Any flotilla involved?" "I-Fm sure there will be some-" "Estimate how many ships." "I couldn't really say-" "Don't know much for a merchant. Fifty thousand Chaons, possible flotilla, trumped-up accusation which points to imperialistic expansion as the prime motive. That's it?" This was the first ordinary question the man had asked him. The others had been demands. Pezi took a deep breath and started to reply.
The warrior interrupted him. "Captain!" he shouted, and another warrior in a blue tunic was immediately at his side. "General alarm, immediate status, arrest any merchants lately from the south, including this one, for interrogation-house arrest after you're convinced they are not actively involved. Send the standing Third Column south to secure the King's Road, then cordon off Dragonsgate and stop all caravan traffic, in or out. Notify all watches along the Spinal Range to relay any unusual troop movement directly to this office by blue flyer. Alert all naval vessels under Lamathian colors that they must be battle-ready within three days, and contact the naval commander and have him see me regarding forcible impression of all available merchant vessels into service to our King." "Yes, sir," the captain snapped, and he turned to hurry out.
The Chieftain of Defense stopped him
short. "And, Captain." "Yes, sir?" the man replied, turning in the doorway to face his superior.
"It's happened," the Chieftain said quietly, and for the first time his expression changed. "It's finally happened! We're going south!" By the time he had finished his sentence both the Chieftain and his assistant were giggling like two excited schoolboys, slapping one another on the back and cackling with elation. Pea stared, openmouthed.
"That is all," the Chieftain said, and all was businesslike again. They snapped salutes at one another and the captain departed quickly.
Pezi thought the salutes rather weird, but said nothing. He didn't realize it, of course, but it was the same gesture of respect Vicia-Heinox had thought so curious when his worshippers did him homage: both arms raised above the head, then crossed, fingers curved into little dragon's mouths. Must be difficult to salute with a sword in your hand, Pezi thought, but said nothing.
The Chieftain of Defense and Expansion now turned back to Pezi, seating himself behind his cluttered desk. "I'm sure you feel a little nonplussed at the speed of that operation, but wars don't wait on anyone, and we try not to fall behind in our preparation. I'm Asher, General of the Army and Chieftain of Defense and Expansion." "Ah, Pezi's my name, Pezi of Ognadzu." "Evident by your colors." "Ah, yes, so it is. I must say, I'm impressed with your organization. I, ah, I had some fears for your entire culture when I was told the King wouldn't see me-" "The King sees no one. I've never seen him." "Never?" "Only spoken to him through a fabric partition." "Quite a contrast with the fellow from the south," Pezi grunted, recalling the vanity of Talith. "Will he be told that he's-ah-at war?" "If he chooses to hear the vizier today, yes. He is a very secretive ruler, Pezi, and quite a worried man." "Worried? What about, if not about war?" Pezi asked, pleased that Asher had remembered his name.
"About death, and about the destiny of his soul." "What?" Pezi chuckled. "Worried about religious things? Why?" Pezi's hearty laughter faded quickly when he saw Asher was not laughing with him.
"Why not?" Asher asked frankly, eyes fixed on Pezi's.
"I-well, of course he would be. Wouldn't he?" Pezi smiled questioningly.
"There's a great deal of religious unrest in the land. A priestess from the northern regions has set the Lamathian Dragonfaith astir with her preaching of renewed devotion. Great hosts of people follow her wherever she goes, and always her teaching is the same. Ultimate devotion demands ultimate personal sacrifice." "Sacrifice?" "Yes. She prepares her followers for consumption." "She gets people ready to be eaten by the dragon?" "Of course!" Asher snapped. His handsome young face was hard now, his jaw set, his mind far away to the north with Serphimera, the Priestess of the dragon.
Suddenly he turned on Pezi, and spat out, "You, you merchant! You seller of slaves! Surely you've fed a few bodies to the dragon yourself, have you not? Lamathian bodies?" Pezi said nothing, for he suddenly found it difficult to swallow. "You don't think your Chaon soldiers are capable of truly capturing so many, do you?" Still Pezi kept silence, but he remembered now many discussions in various merchant kitchens around the world, concerning the willingness of Lamathian slaves to serve as dragon fodder. The thought sent shivers down his spine. "They want to be eaten?" "Yes!" Asher thundered, then he looked away, peering through one of the window slits at the street below and the capital city of Lamath beyond. "And now the King wonders and worries about where the ultimate reunion with the dragon is to be, if not in the twi-beast's belly?" "And-what about you?" Pezi asked cautiously. Asher's voice softened. "I've seen her. Serphimera. Weaves a spell around a crowd like a Mari witch over a brewing potion. Touches . . . smiles . . . frowns . . . and they all belong to her. To her and to the dragon." Pezi thought of the horrible stink of Vicia-Heinox's combined breath, and wondered aloud, "Has she ever talked with the dragon?" "She lives still, doesn't she?" Asher snapped, and Pezi shrugged helplessly. "The day she meets him, she will be inside him. But her people won't let her go, you see, fearing that if they lose her they will lose his palpable presence with them. So she stays behind and sends others in droves to your Chaon soldiers-and the dragon." Asher took a bow off the wall and tested the tension of its string absently. "And me? Ah, yes. I wonder too. I've watched her move, Pezi. She walks with the liquid motion of a woman who is sure of her lover." Asher sighed. "But her lover is the dragon, and no man. And me? I'm the one who must stop her." Asher looked at Pezi. "You shouldn't think this war with Chaomonous is a fearful thing to me. No, no. It is a relief! At last I can lead my warriors against the true enemy and spatter Chaon blood on the granite barrier between us!" Pezi gagged a bit at the force of the image; but said nothing. He was imagining how his uncle would manipulate all this information to the profit of Ognadzu, and pleased that he would have so much to share with the cruel old buzzard.
"So tell me, Pezi," Asher demanded, planting himself astride Pezi's outstretched legs, "Where can I expect their attack?" "I, ah, can't say-" "Can't? Or won't? Well, perhaps a stay in our guest room will help you to recall some more helpful information. Guard!" "Thank you. General Asher, but I've rented some rooms in town and-" A guard appeared at the door, and Asher thundered, "Conduct this merchant to his quarters!" "Come on, then," the guard said to Pezi as he swaggered into the office. "It's a long walk to the dungeon." Dungeon! Who'd said anything about a dungeon? Asher had said the guest rooms, not- Pezi was jerked from his seat and dragged out the door, where the first guard was Joined by two others. Soon they were in the lower levels of the palace, and Pezi noticed that down here the walls weren't marble, but were carved out of the rock. As they slammed a heavy door behind him, one could hear Pezi's plaintive call echoing down the hallway: "But he said I could stay in the guest room..." They poured down out of the foothills of the Spinal Range, and walked for days just to glimpse her. Wherever she passed, villages went empty, cattle went hungry, plows gathered the dust of spring. Across wide fields, painted yellow-green by the glowing sun, she led her following-and every night beside giant bonfires she lectured on ultimate devotion. Each night the group was watched by Asher's soldiers. Yet every evening two or three pilgrims managed to slip past the watch, unnoticed, and started the long trek to the south and slavery-hoping. Her pattern took her from one monastery to the next. She slept always in the chapel, before the dragon statue that was an obligatory part of every chapel's decorations. It mattered little what stream of Dragonfaith the monastery espoused. She visited all in turn-Divisionists and Dichotomists as well as the more orthodox Coalescence mainstream. And there were cassocks of every shade of blue among her following. No segment of the Dragonfaith went untouched by her teaching.
She was always smiling, her long dark hair gleaming in the sunlight. Her own robe was the blue of the midnight sky when it encircles a full moon. Around her neck she wore the white vee, and it draped across her breasts as a symbol to all that, doctrinally, she stood with the Coalescence party. But her mind was never on doctrine, only on the dragon. Whenever a cloud obscured the sun, throwing its shadow across her, she would toss her hands up to shade her eyes and search the sky for some sign of the flying twi-beast.
Understandably, she and her whole following surged forward with excitement at the news received from a small village in the heart of the Lamathian mainland. The population of an entire monastery had disappeared one day, and a local fanner swore that on that same day he had seen the dragon himself flying over his fields. Then there was the great dent in the earth only a few hundred yards from the monastery's gates. A number of peasants reported they had heard a loud blast coming from that direction, but laughed at the idea that it had been the sound of the dragon crashing. In fact there was much discussion over whether the notion of the dragon crashing out of control was blasphemous or not.
Serphimera did not participate in the discussion. She sniffed the air at the site of the crater, then went down into it to feel along its banks. She slept that night before the statue in the monastery. When she emerged the next morning her statement was unqualified, uttered with unsha
kable confidence. "The Dragon was here. Those of this monastery were the first to be found faithful." Overnight, the empty monastery filled with newly sworn initiates. In the absence of an abbess, Serphimera lingered. Within a week, she decided that here she would make her abode. The name of the little village nearby had never been firmly fixed. Now it took on a new name, one that was whispered throughout the length of rural Lamath. Serphila, it came to be called, home of the Priestess Serphimera. It quickly swelled in size. Perhaps the local farmers were not totally believing-but all found new occupations serving those who came to Serphila to await the return of Vicia-Heinox.
"Amazing," Bronwynn murmured wearily. "Bushes and shrubs do still exist." They rode down out of the forest in a line, Pelman leading the way. Their two-week journey through the Great North Fir was ending. "Seems like it's been six months," she grumbled.
"W-where are we g-g-going?" Rosha asked.
"And what are we going to do when we get there?" Bronwynn added. It was not the first time they had asked Pelman this question, but there was always hope he would finally condescend to answer.
The Prophet Of Lamath Page 20