The Prophet Of Lamath

by Hughes, Robert Don

  And answer he did. "You'll see it in a moment." "Really?" The girl grew excited for the first time in days. "Can we see it from here?" She stood in her stirrups, trying to peer past Pelman's head.

  "W-what are we g-g-going to do?" Rosha asked from behind. Bronwynn had noticed a strange tension between the two men, but nothing had been explained to her. In fact, it seemed from her conversations with Rosha that he himself didn't really understand why it existed. It was just something that had seemed to grow between them since the storm a few nights before. Rosha dismissed it as more of Pelman's strangeness, but Bronwynn wondered if there weren't more to it than that. It seemed to her that Pelman was hiding something.

  They rode down into a small forest bowl, fighting through a tangle of roots and brush, then up the other side. Here, abruptly, the trees stopped, though there were stumps and small bushes in abundance. In a moment they stood atop the last hill, looking down on the giant central river valley of Lamath.

  "It's like home!" Bronwynn exclaimed, her eyes misting over unexpectedly. "But not," she added.

  "Much greener than Chaomonous at this time of the year," Pelman said quietly. "Then again, maybe there are parts of Chaomonous that are greener. I haven't seen all of your land." "That's it . . . it's so green'" the girl gushed.

  "And s-s-so flat," Rosha snorted. The lad turned his mount to look back at the forest longingly, already missing its cool covering.

  Pelman knew what the lad was thinking. Rosha scorned Lamath because he feared Lamath. "Too big a land to be someone in, Rosha?" he asked.

  Rosha wheeled his horse back to face him. "Too bbig? I n-never said that." "Good." Pelman smiled. "Because it's not too big for you." There was a minute or two of silence on the hill, as the two men regarded one another. Bronwynn quickly grew impatient, and her pony seemed to sense her urgency, for it began dancing around. Finally she interrupted.

  "You said we would see where we are going?" Pelman glanced at her, then pointed out across the countryside to the northeast. The recent rain had settled the dust and washed the horizon blue. Four or five villages with their own local fields were easily visible from this height, as was a broad blue strip of river that curved through the countryside on its way to the east and the sea. "The village there ... in the bend of the Mashab River." "That little place?" "No. Look out from it-north. You see a low white wall?" Bronwynn shaded her eyes and squinted. "No," she said frankly.

  "I s-s-see it," Rosha murmured.

  "Of course you see it," Bronwynn said. "Anyone could see from the shape of your nose that your grandmother was an eagle." Rosha chuckled, and Bronwynn was pleased with herself for easing the tension. "What is it?" "It's a monastery of the Divisionist faith." "That tells me a lot!" "You'll have plenty of time to learn more." Pelman spoke a word to Minaliss and was off again.

  "You are always welcome here, my brother." The old holy man smiled toothlessly. "And these with you as well. Though I must confess I am a little startled at your sudden reappearance after such an extended absence." The Elder of the monastery sat on a three-legged stool in the center of the library, sipping a hot bowl of thin soup between sentences. Pelman also sat on a stool, but the brethren had provided soft, pillowy stuffed chairs for Rosha and Bronwynn. This luxury, together with the warm, protective atmosphere of the cloister and the soft drone of the conversation, rapidly put them to sleep.

  "It was time," Pelman said simply, "though I cannot tell you how I knew." "Indeed, it is time, my brother." The old man's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward to stare at Pelman. "If you've come to do the thing at last." Pelman did not look away, but he had to fight to keep his eyes from filling with tears. "I have, my brother," he answered, "yet I wonder still why it must be me?" The Elder chuckled, a melodious laugh that seemed incongruous emanating from that toothless mouth. "Who else then, Pelman? Who found the book and deciphered it? Who but you could do the task, and tell the tale?" "I never asked the Power for this-" "Do you think I asked for this?" the old man asked, gesturing at the bare room and slopping his soup in the process. "Oh my," he muttered, setting the bowl on the floor and sopping up the spillage with the hem of his grimy blue robe. "But this is what came," he continued, not looking up, "an old man and a group of men to guide spiritually." He glanced up at Pelman. "More or less." He grinned. "Nor do I complain anymore. Why should I?" He gestured again at the books. "Look at the wealth I possess . . . and the friends!" He stood and made his way to the door to open it. He whispered something to a brother outside and soon in came a group of men to bundle the boy and girl up in robes and carry them off to their rooms. "Exhausted, they were," he muttered to Pelman, scolding him. "You brought them too far too fast." "No choice in that. Elder. They both must grow well beyond their days in a hurry if they are to match the burdens being thrust on them." "Yes." The old man sighed. "Yes. The changes do come, don't they?" He seated himself on his stool, lowering himself in sections to avoid complaints from aged joints. "Well then. What will you do about the woman?" "What woman?" Pelman asked, puzzled. "You don't know of the Priestess from the north? Where have you been, boy?" "I've not been in Lamath, if that's what you mean- my father." Pelman grinned as he added this last. It had been a long time since his teacher called him boy.

  "Playing magician again, I suppose." The Elder sighed. "And I thought it was her appearance that had brought you back. I underestimate you again!" the little man called out loudly, and Pelman realized his teacher spoke not to him, but to the Power.

  "Perhaps I should know of the woman?" The Elder quickly sketched the details of Serphimera's appearance and the sudden explosion of her popularity. The news troubled him, but what concerned him more were the stories of what happened in the wake of her visitations to monasteries.

  "Burned parchments. Burned codices. Burned libraries, all over Lamath. And naturally the most virulent reprisals against Divisionists. She is, after all, orthodox." The little man chuckled, but there was no joy in his laughter.

  "Has she been here?" Pelman asked urgently.

  "Look around, boy." The Elder smiled, gesturing again at the rolls and books. "Use your head a little. No, your precious codex has not been destroyed . . ." The old man's voice softened. "Though Power knows I've wanted to do it myself, knowing the grief it's caused you." "No!" "I haven't," the Elder soothed.

  "Where is it?" Pelman asked eagerly. The Elder rose slowly from his stool and moved his bowl to one side; then he moved his stool and bent to lift the edge of a woolen rug, to flop it out of the way. The process took a full two minutes, and Pelman fought impatience.

  "It's in the cavern, then?" The Elder sighed. "Well, of course, it is. Go ahead." He waved Pelman to a stone slab in the floor. "You know I can't lift it." Pelman quickly grabbed the inset handle and lifted the slab out of the floor. A cold gust of wind blew up into the room, and the Elder stepped away from the edge of the black hold. "It's where you found it," he muttered, and Pelman nodded and reached for a lamp. "Watch out for bears, and don't stay all night, you need your sleep, too!" "Yes, my father," Pelman replied absently, stepping onto the top rung of the ladder. "Before you go-" "Yes?" Pelman replied, stopping with his head at floor level.

  "What about the boy and girl? Who are they? What am I to do with them?" "The girl is the heir to the throne of Chaomonous. Clothe her in blue and hide her at all costs. The boy- his father asked me to teach him all I know. I've done better. I've brought him to my own teacher." "Pelman, I-I am old. If it is your responsibility to teach him-can I bear that?" "There is the matter of time, my father," Pelman replied, laying a hand on the old man's sandaled foot and looking up into his eyes. "There are priorities." "Yes. Well, for now then. But protecting the girl- Pelman, this Priestess could come any day now . . ." "Let me deal with the Priestess," Pelman said quietly. "Just clothe Bronwynn in the blue of an initiate and keep her hidden for a time. As for truly protecting her, your mind can rest at ease. Protecting Bronwynn is something the boy won't have to be taught Good night." Pelman descended into the cav
ern below the cloister, and the old man watched him down.

  "Good night," the Elder said at length, and then he added, "my brother." Tohn mod Neelis stood at the head of his mounted army and waited for Dorlyth to venture out. Three columns of riders waited behind him, responding to the order for absolute silence by carrying on their inevitable prebattle conversations in whispers. Tohn's archers lined the northern edge of the field, their flank shielded from arrows by wooden barriers constructed in the long days of the siege. His best cavalry unit waited on the southern tip of the hillock Tohn had camped on. He would not bring them in until after the general melee began. It was his plan to drive Doriyth south with a volley of arrow fire and squeeze him then between the main force and this reserve cavalry. It was a fair plan, Tohn decided. Nothing fancy. What really mattered was how his soldiers responded to this, their second battle. He hoped some at least had learned something from the first.

  "Boy, I want you to stay well back from the action," Tohn growled at his towheaded young squire.

  "Yes, sir," the lad replied, but he never looked up at his master. The gate was all he was concerned with, the gate of Dorlyth's castle. There was a breathlessness in the boy that told Tohn he would not stay back-no, could not stay back.

  "You do as I say, lad!" Tohn said sharply, and the boy looked up at him in surprise.

  "I said I would," he protested.

  "It isn't what you think it is, lad. This grunting and sweating and hacking at one another won't make you the man you're in such a hurry to be." "Did I say I was in a hurry, sir?" "Every boy is in a hurry, lad. Then he's an old man, wanting to stop hurrying but not knowing how." "Sir?" "Just stay put when we charge!" "Yes, sir." There was a cry of "Gate's opening!" down the line, and Tohn looked again at the castle.

  "By the powers, it is. Very well, lad. Pass my lance up." Similar orders were mumbled up and down the line, until the rows of mounted soldiers resembled a living picket fence. The whispering stopped. There was much nervous coughing. Tohn's own blood was pulsing rapidly though his aged veins, but he set his jaw and thought calming thoughts.

  The gates were fully open now, and a line of riding warriors came slowly out and down the earthen ramp to the level of the field. One could say it was a ragtag army, and scorn its lack of discipline. On the other hand, one could view it as a collection of heroes, individualists who chose to dress and act as they liked, but who had chosen in this case to fight side by side. The second view, Tohn feared, was nearer the truth, and he felt his lips go suddenly very dry. The warriors flowed forth from the mouth of the castle in two rows, one turning south and one north, and all rode with the deliberate pace of men in control of themselves and their animals. Psychologically speaking, it was a most effective ruse, Tohn thought. Sweat trickled down his ribs inside the oven of his mail shirt. He fought his impatience.

  The lines were fully extended now, and Tohn watched the fellow he had come to know as Doriyth ride from the gate. With that mass of curling hair framing his face, he looked like a bear. The old merchant wondered briefly if the man's nature was as violent as one of those denizens of the underground. Then Tohn lurched forward in his saddle, dumfounded. Doriyth mod Karis was unarmed . . . and he rode past his line of soldiers toward the middle of the field. There the man stopped and dismounted. In a gesture that amazed all of the gathered host of Ognadzu, he slapped his horse on the rump and sent it riderless back to its stable. He then knelt on the grass and tugged a weed from the ground; inserting it between his lips casually, he began to chew it. It was obvious he was waiting for Tohn to meet him.

  That sharpened knife was still tucked away inside Tohn's battle shut, within easy reach. "When you get the chance, kill him," Jagd had suggested, and Tohn intended to do so. Tohn measured the distance, and calculated that he could easily strike the man down and return to his line before Dorlyth's warriors could react. A bow-shot could fell him, perhaps-but it would demand a brilliant bowman and a lucky shot. The deed needed to be done. There would be no better time.

  "Here, lad," he muttered, passing his spear back to the boy. "And here." He handed the squire his greatsword, and took the reins to ride toward Doriyth.

  "You did it, my Lord!" The boy beamed up at him, eyes full of the purest respect and admiration.

  Tohn stared at him, shocked at this intrusion of virtue into his dark scheming. He felt himself grin foolishly, and in disbelief heard himself say, "Leading is easy, lad. You just have to believe in yourself." Then he had kicked his horse and was riding forward, his attention fixed not on the crucial confrontation with Dorlyth, but strangely on the self he had seen reflected in his squire's adoring eyes.

  As his horse cantered toward Dorlyth, Tohn mod Neelis wrestled with a dilemma. Who was he, really? In his earlier days he had been trained to ignore the ethical dimensions of any question that involved the family. What was good for Ognadzu was good for Tohn mod Neelis. But now, as he felt his squire's admiring gaze on his back, the greater glory of Ognadzu was the last thing on his mind. He was within speaking distance of Dorlyth now-if he were to strike the man down, now was the time- Tohn reined in his horse, and got off.

  Dorlyth eyed the older man intently as Tohn walked stiffly up to face him and knelt across from him in the grass. Dorlyth spoke quietly. "I hoped you would come." "Yes, well . . . What is it you want?" "That's what I was going to ask you." "You know what I want," Tohn said gruffly. "Pelman and the girl. Give them to me and my troops and I will leave you in peace." A glimmer of a smile flashed behind the veil of Dorlyth's beard. "I think we both know better than that, don't we?" Tohn raised an eyebrow. "Know what?" Dorlyth sighed. "Pelman isn't here. Neither is the girl. You must know that by this time, Tohn. If I had a powershaper within my walls, why would I need to be here, talking with you?" Tohn shifted his eyes toward the long line of his blue soldiers, and shook his head. "You have me there." Suddenly Dorlyth was speaking with a hushed intensity that drew Tohn's eyes back to his face. "I know why you're here, Tohn. I know who sent you. What I don't understand is why you, a Lord of the Mar, would allow yourself to be manipulated by flatlanders! Tohn-" Here Dorlyth broke off, sighing, then continued more quietly. "What do you want? Really?" The old warrior again turned his gaze away, staring at his nephews and cousins in uniform. "Me? I want to go home and plant my crop." There was a long silence between them.

  "Why don't you?" Tohn shook his head. "Isn't that easy. I'm a merchant, Dorlyth, and the Council of Elders-" "Tohn, you're a Mari! Mari to the heart! I can't believe you mean to threaten that-" "I'm both, Dorlyth!" Tohn exploded, then calmed himself a bit and went on, "I'm either both, or neither." But even as he said this, Tohn realized it really wasn't true. He thought for a long time then, reflecting on what he should tell Dorlyth and what he should withhold.

  In the end he told him all. Thinking of the towheaded boy in the ranks behind him, he shared with Dorlyth every detail of the plot, and finished with this: "I just want to be left out of it, Dorlyth. I'll neither fight with you nor against you. If my fields and harvest must be sacrificed as a plain of battle, let it be so. But I want my children to live-and I want them to live as I have, as Marts." Dorlyth nodded, and smiled a friendly smile. "Tohn mod Neelis," he said, "you're the first merchant I ever met who had a conscience." As they grasped hands to seal the peace, Pahd mod Pahd-el arrived on the field of battle, at the head of his palace guard. He would have arrived sooner, of course, but . . . he'd overslept.

  Chapter Nine

  THE CAVERN was so familiar Pelman could have found his way in the dark, but he appreciated the illumination of the lamp. So intent was he on rediscovering his prize that the thought of creating a ball of flame to light his way never entered his mind. He was no longer a powershaper-not here. He was back in the caverns of Lamath, back in the Dragonfaith blue, and it was as if the intervening years of his travels were but dreams without meaning. The cavern looked as old as it had always looked, and the bear stench was as strong and unpleasant as ever. Truly, it could have been yesterd
ay that he last closed the book and wound his way out of the subterranean maze to dinner.

  He slipped quietly around a comer and went down to his knees to enter a narrow tunnel, pushing the light before him as he wiggled through on his belly. Then he stood, holding the lamp above him to survey the room that had been his study for so long, so many years ago.

  A natural shelf of rock had served as his desk, a small stool as his seat. He tested his weight on the stool carefully and found it sturdy still, then reached into a crevice on the wall and withdrew a case of beaten metal. There was no lock on the box. He nipped it open quickly and pulled from it the leather-bound volume that had been uppermost in his mind since the moment he had again laid eyes on the monastery. He placed it on the shelf and hung the lamp on a peg. Then he opened the book and began to read, translating the strange characters into thoughts.

  Glorious things. A world of strange names, but easily recognizable events. People who so far preceded him in linear time as to have no connection to the reality of the 204 present-but who nevertheless were people, just as he, whose lives had intersected with one another and with catastrophe. People who had experienced life, and struggled to prolong it.

  He skimmed through material already read and pondered, renewing his memory of the whole by dipping more deeply into selected sections. He came at last to the place where he had left off reading, to ideas and symbols that had so threatened him that he had fled the monastery and Lamath. Tears sprang to his eyes as of old, tears of frustration and despair. For each passage read only deepened his conviction that the words spoke of him. How could it be, he asked himself-and Pelman realized anew the presence of the Power in his tiny cell, answering simply, "It is." "Then why do I constantly talk of choice?" Pelman asked glumly of the wall, and he was startled by the way his words echoed out into the passageway behind him. He suddenly felt very tired. Unhooking the lantern from the wall, he walked to the narrow entrance. Before he stooped, he turned and spoke again, spoke aloud, spoke to the book that still lay open on the rock. "I already said that I would!" Just that. Then he knelt once more, and was crawling out of the passageway.