"Where is she? She was told to be here at midday!" The speaker was a young man of twenty-five, very intense of face and bearing. His garment was so rich with costly jewels one could say it was encrusted with them. It was a very heavy robe, and noisy when he paced like this. It was far too long for him, and the hem dragged the floor. Emeralds clacked along the mosaic tile with every step he took. It had been thrust upon him, along with the sapphire hood of office and the keys of dominion, with the untimely passing of his father less than a month before. He was Naquin, High Priest of the Unified Dragonfaith-and he was scared senseless by the suddenness of his rise to power. One day he had been a slightly tipsy poet. The next he was spiritual father to a nation. "She calls herself Priestess! Who made her Priestess?" "She says she was made so by the Lord Dragon him206 The Prophet of Lamath self . . ." answered a voice from a row of attendant advisors. There were nine of these, all shrouded in shades of blue. Naquin could see none of their faces. They were his anonymous advisors, chosen from obscurity by each separate branch of the Dragonfaith. It was the tradition that they remain forever unknown to the High Priest they advised, so that none would be favored over the others and so that the Priest would feel no political compulsion to listen to any one. He, of course, could do as he chose in any case, whether it suited his advisors or not. The advisors followed Naquin throughout the day, commenting as a chorus on his every action, offering advice freely, whether asked for it or not. Naquin was sure they were plotting to drive him crazy.
"That's absurd!" Naquin shouted. "The dragon cares nothing for priests or priestesses, he cares nothing about our faith!" There was a chorus of tongue clicks and murmurs of "shame," but no truly violent verbal reaction. Nothing like the response Naquin got when he called Vicia-Heinox an overgrown gecko.
"Whatever your evaluation of the woman's authority, you must confess that her influence with the people warrants her claim to being Priestess." "I don't have to confess anything to you parasites, I wish you would get that through your heads. Assuming you have heads under those veils. I honestly don't see how you get around. Don't you trip over things in the dark?" "No," the answer came back from several directions, but the idea was already planted in Naquin's mind. He would have rocks cemented into the floor throughout the temple, rocks that would rise two or three inches above the level of the tile. It would do him good to watch one or two advisors go down in a whirl of vestments as they scurried to keep up with him.
"She is come," someone said, and Naquin glanced up to see the woman gliding toward him. Her robe skimmed the floor before her, giving the illusion that she floated rather than walked.
"More blue," Naquin sighed. "Doesn't anyone here ever wear anything but blue?" " 'It is the color of the water-' " " 'The color of the sky-'" began the chorus, quoting the ancient lines regarding the sacred color.
"All right, enough!" Naquin snorted, stamping his foot. "Leave us!" he commanded imperiously, and his nine naggers obediently left the room. Naquin surveyed Serphimera with a pained expression, and said, "I suppose if this movement of yours gets any larger, you'll be wanting to make it ten?" "Ten what?" "Ten advisors, of course. Every other movement is represented, why not the 'ultimate devotion' party?" Naquin's sarcasm was not lost on the Priestess, but she disregarded it. He was, after all, still a boy. "I had no wish to start a new movement, only to restore the old to its original passion." "No doubt, no doubt. So did all the other movements when they started." Naquin was not pious by any means, but he did know his history.
"But this won't be another movement." Serphimera smiled knowingly. "The true end of ultimate devotion has nothing to do with religious practice. The true end is to be swallowed by the Lord Dragon." "And that's what confuses me in all this," Naquin replied. "When the aim is to be consumed by the dragon, and when so many adherents are flocking to captivity in the south in order to accomplish that dubious purpose, how is it that your following continues to grow?" Naquin smiled sarcastically. "Could it be that a lot of them preach what they fear too much to practice? I notice their leader is still undigested . . ." "It has been given to me to prepare the faithful," Serphimera replied patiently, condescending to his skepticism. "When the proper time comes I hope to make my own pilgrimage. Like you, I hope that time is soon." "Like me?" Serphimera laughed brightly and tossed her dark mane over her shoulders. "I quite understand that my disappearance would be cause for great rejoicing within this temple-and within a host of monasteries still untouched by my devotionalists." "I would never think such a thing!" Naquin lied. "My only concern is that you've gotten the King into a lather over this, and for the welfare of the country I wish you would make some proclamation or something that would set the old fellow's heart at ease." Serphimera's eyes flashed with excitement as she smiled triumphantly. "But you see, my concern is not with the welfare of the state. I'm far more concerned with the welfare of the Lord Dragon!" Naquin smiled back, a thin smile, then weakly called out, "Advisors?" Within moments his nine blue shadows trooped back into the room. "Would you please discuss this situation with the lady? I've remembered an important task of office I must attend to." He turned on his heel then and walked out of the temple, his robe clacking all the way. He really had nothing else to do, of course-what could be more important than the welfare of the King? But it was just too much for him today. Too much. He needed to get out of this jeweled lizard skin and be himself for a while.
The Elder climbed cautiously down the ladder into the cavern, sniffing for bear at every step. He realized it made little difference if he did smell one, for the beast would get him before he could get back up the ladder. Still, he felt it might be worthwhile at least to know what was getting him before it did so. He thanked the Power that bears never came up into the open.
He walked quietly, holding the lantern above his head and trying to remember the way. At last he found the entrance hole, and saw a light glowing from within. "My brother?" "Yes, my father?" Pelman replied from within. The closeness of the place made his voice sound distant.
"I hate to disturb your study, but there is another one waiting in the anteroom." There was a short silence, then the old holy man heard Pelman sliding through the passageway.
"You didn't disturb me," Pelman answered gravely, shaking dust from his clothes.
"That's a lie, of course," the Elder said, "but a gracious one. You seem to be bearing up well under the burden." They shuffled back toward the ladder. "I wish one could say the same for your young friends." Pelman stopped walking and looked at his old teacher.
"What can I do? What other choice is there?" "Oh, I didn't say you had a choice. I do think that perhaps you could help their adjustment somewhat if you would spend a little time with them. You seem to have it for everyone else . . ." "Yes. You're right, as always." "Do you think we could walk along as we talk?" the old man asked. "After all, we could visit in the library all night and never even smell a bear . . ." Pelman chuckled, and they moved on. "I'll speak with the two of them as soon as I deal with this new seeker who has come." "Oh, no need to wait." "But-" "You see, I lie rather graciously myself." The old man put his hand on the ladder and passed the lamp to Pelman. "You take this prophecy business so seriously. What other lever do I have to get you to fulfill your responsibilities?" The Elder was old, but he wasn't dead. This close to the library and safety, he wasn't about to give any passing bear a chance to render him so. Pelman was amazed at how swiftly the little man scrambled up the ladder and out.
"We just don't understand," Bronwynn said when the three of them were together. "We've been a part of everything you've done up until now, why can't we be a part of this?" "But you are a part of this. Look at your robes, look-" "What difference does it make what color robes we wear?" Bronwynn protested. "All right, so the good brothers have told us the significance of the sacred blue. But Pelman, we have no interest in this religion business, we want to be a part of what you're doing!" "Rosha? You're saying nothing?" "I speak for both of us," Bronwynn said, and Rosha nodded to indicate
this was true.
Pelman sighed. "If you're not interested in all of this, what makes you think you would be any more interested in what I'm doing?" "You." It was Rosha who said it, and even he seemed surprised that he'd spoken.
"Me?" "It doesn't matter what it is," Bronwynn said, her tone pleading as she sought to make him understand. "If it is this important to you, it is important to us as well." Pelman gazed first at one young face and then the other, then stood to stroll around the room. "Very well," he said finally. "I will make you my first initiates." It was such a serious pronouncement that Pelman expected more reaction from the young couple than he received. They simply nodded. "If there's nothing else then-" "One more thing," Bronwynn said.
"Yes?" "Rosha wants to know if you have any news about his father." Pelman's grim expression grew more so. "Why do you ask this, Rosha?" The young man cleared his throat. "I had a-dream. The n-night of the s-s-storm. I dreamed that you- heard a c-conversation about m-my father. D-did you?" Pelman stared at the lad. "Yes." "Why d-did you hide it from m-me?" "Your father did not do as I asked. He has been under siege by Tohn mod Neelis-probably since the day we left." "D-don't you think I kn-know that?" Rosha stammered, his eyes angry. "I kn-knew that before you ddid! My father t-told me his plans! M-m-my father t-tt-trusts me!" Rosha glared at Pelman, and the Prophet felt his stomach knot up. He had underestimated the son of his finest friend, he now realized, and it grieved him.
"I'm sorry, Rosha. I was trying to protect you." "I c-can protect m-myself!" "I realize that. Better now than before, my friend." "Then t-tell m-me what you have heard!" "The three men who plotted Bronwynn's kidnap have also plotted Dorlyth's death." "D-d-did they succeed?" Rosha asked, stony-faced.
Pelman shrugged helplessly. "All I heard was the plot." "Then they d-d-didn't," Rosha barked fiercely, "for I know my father, and he has b-b-better sense than to g-get himself killed." In spite of the weightiness of the conversation, Pelman was forced to smile at that. "I see the son trusts the father as well." "Why didn't you go and help him?" Bronwynn asked softly. Her face expressed faint distaste-the sad smile of one betrayed. "You could have . . . couldn't you?" "I could have," Pelman admitted.
Bronwynn waited for him to explain further, but he said no more. "I don't understand," she said finally, shaking her head and turning away, no longer able to meet his eyes.
"If you are to be my initiates, you will soon." Bronwynn said nothing, nor did she turn back to him. She did nod slightly, as if to say, "We'll see." For the moment it was the best she could give.
Pelman looked at Rosha. "I should have known better than to try to hide anything in the Great North Fir." With that, Pelman started for the door.
"P-p-Pelman-" The Prophet stopped and looked back at the powerfully built young man. "When d-d-do we start?" Pelman grinned slightly and motioned toward the door. "Now, if you wish." Rosha hopped from his cot and grabbed Bronwynn's hand. "We're r-ready," he grunted.
Bronwynn glanced up at him in surprise. "I thought we agreed I would speak for us!" "Then t-t-tell him we're ready s-s-s-so we can g-get on with it!" Bronwynn looked at Pelman and shrugged-then out she went through the door.
As they trooped into the library and down through the floor, they passed the Elder, who appeared to be lost in the reading of a sizable volume. Rosha entered the pit first, then Bronwynn.
As Pelman put his foot on the top rung of the ladder and started down after them, the little holy man spoke, his eyes never leaving the pages of his book: "I don't know why you ever thought you could do it alone in the first place." Vicia-Heinox groaned and rolled once more onto his back. He thrashed his tail from side to side, sweeping swirls of dust high into the air. As it settled onto the expanse of the dragon's distended belly, Heinox snarled an accusation he had been repeating all morning long. "It's your fault!" "It isn't my fault, it's your fault!" Vicia snarled back. "You ate all those diseased ones!" "They weren't diseased, they were just underfed!" Vicia moaned again, and whimpered, "I wish I was underfed-" "Well, if you hadn't insisted on eating all of those fat young fools we wouldn't be in this condition!" "But they were so tasty-" "So you kept gulping them down. I told you then you were eating too fast!" "You didn't help any by swallowing all the scrawny ones! Especially when there were so many volunteers." "There you go, trying to rob me of one of the few pleasures left me-savoring the taste of a helpless, shivering human!" The dragon rolled over onto its stomach and napped his wings feebly. Rather, Heinox flapped the wings.
Vicia just groaned. "That's not going to help either." "What is?!" Heinox demanded.
"How should I know? We've never had a stomach-ache before!" "We shouldn't be having this one. But you insisted-" "They were begging me to swallow them, Heinox!" Vicia relished the memory for a moment, then added grandly, "How could I refuse them their wish?" "Don't get started on that god business again," Heinox growled. "If I hear one more word about that I will go mad." "You simply lack the capacity to understand spiritual things, Heinox," Vicia goaded. "I think it's because our soul resides in me." "What soul?" Heinox spat out.
"You see? You Just aren't capable of comprehending." "I'm going to get you, Vicia," Heinox threatened. His belly burned so fiercely he could not put much inflection into his threat, but he meant it from the bottom of their shared heart.
Vicia chuckled derisively. "And how will you manage that, since it is so evident from the condition of our stomach that whatever affects me affects you as well?" Heinox rose slowly into the air to gaze menacingly down on his counterpart. "I'm going to destroy Lamath, and all your worshippers with it. Then we'll see how much like a god you feel!" Now Vicia rose up to face him. "Without me you aren't capable of destroying a hamlet, let alone a splendid and cultured civilization." Vicia felt any nation that had the good sense to worship him was obviously splendid and cultured.
"Perhaps not," Heinox replied, with the dragon's equivalent of a smile. "But the nation I favor is capable." "What nation?" Vicia snapped. Heinox raised his head as high into the air as his neck would allow, and turned to gaze arrogantly to the south. Vicia understood, and snorted his reply. "Chaomonous? You would pit those feebleminded tumblers in the gold helmets against the faithful of Lamath?" Vicia cackled. "Why, less than a month ago I burned out an entire column of your little golden heroes!" "Keep in mind, Vicia, that it works both ways," Heinox answered smugly. "You can't do a thing to Chaomonous without my help." Vicia pondered that. "Are you suggesting that we encourage these nations to battle one another? As our champions, perhaps?" "Why does it take you so long to catch on?" Heinox mocked. "I think it's because the brains reside in me!" Vicia growled softly but chose to ignore the taunt. "We would encourage this war, but not participate in it?" "I intend to participate in any way I can," Heinox snarled. "Whatever I can do to aid Chaomonous, I will do. But since I assume you'll do the same for Lamath, I rather think our efforts will cancel one another out, don't you? Or is that too big a thought for your tiny mind to swallow?" "Would you please not mention swallowing?" Vicia groaned.
"The question-is, how to get Chaomonous to attack Lamath," Heinox said to himself.
"Obviously I don't have that problem. All I need say is, 'Attack!' and my faithful will leap to obey me!" "You don't know they'll leap to obey you. All you know is that they'll leap down your throat. Doesn't sound like a very stable sort of warrior to me." "You just want humans to quake and tremble before you eat them." "They taste better that way!" Heinox argued back. The dragon's attention shifted once more to his stomach, and the beast rolled around in silent misery for several minutes before Vicia spoke again.
."It occurs to me that we should learn to cooperate a little before it's too late." "Why should I cooperate with you?" Heinox grumbled, though his stomach insisted painfully that there was at least one reason.
"What hurts me hurts you-and without my help you can't protect yourself. What happens if one of these armies should decide to attack us instead of each other?" It didn't take long for Heinox to get the point. In spite o
f their aching stomach, the two heads spent the rest of the morning relearning how to focus heat-in self-defense. By the time he finished venting his hostilities on the landscape, Vicia-Heinox felt remarkably better.
Pezi sat in the straw in a corner of the dungeon, trying not to pay attention to the insults being hurled at him from down the hall. Fortunately his cousins had been imprisoned in another cell. They all blamed their predicament on him, and now they competed with one another to see who could call him the vilest name. Far and away, the victor in this contest was Faliar, the young cousin Pezi had threatened on the road a few days before. Safely protected by two locked doors and walls of stone, Faliar's acid tongue was free to wag its worst.
The Prophet Of Lamath Page 22