But there were some advantages, Pezi reminded himself. At least he didn't have to suffer Faliar up close. Besides, his other cousins were angry enough to do him real harm; had they been imprisoned in this cell with him, he would scarcely avoid a beating, or worse. The dungeon of the crown of Lamath was a great improvement over Flayh's. Though Pezi certainly wasn't feasting, he wasn't starving either. In fact, were there a little more food and a little less noise, Pezi thought he could come to like the place, damp and dank though it was.
He heard footsteps in the tunnel, but he stayed in his place on the straw. He had run to the door for nothing too many times to believe these steps heralded his release. But he wasted no time getting to his feet when he heard a key scraping in its lock.
Pezi gasped when he saw the contingent that had come to remove him. These were not soldiers; they were spectres, wraiths, beings without faces! Four figures clad from top to bottom in blue robes stood waiting for him, their faces hidden by veils of blue gauze.
"Come with us," said one in a funereal tone, and Pezi gulped and backed away.
"Are you the-the executioners?" he managed to stammer, and was surprised to hear muffled laughter from beneath those solemn cloaks.
"No, my son. We are advisors to the High Priest of Lamath. Our master would have words with you." The High Priest! Flayh had instructed him to make contact with the High Priest, but Pezi's imprisonment had made that impossible. Now the High Priest had sent his ghouls after Pezi! The fat merchant began to quiver inside, wondering what this Priest would be like, and what weird twist this adventure would take next. Pezi decided right then that he hadn't the stomach for diplomacy.
"The master is waiting," another voice said ominously, and Pezi steeled himself and walked forward into the hallway.
Pezi had been expecting the High Priest to look like his advisors-only more so. He was hardly prepared for the youthful countenance that squinted out at him from under an ill-fitting, blue-jeweled hood. It appeared, in fact, that Naquin was as afraid of Pezi as Pezi was of Naquin.
"Welcome, Pezi!" The High Priest smiled warmly, and he motioned the chubby merchant to a chair. As Pezi sat, the four beings who had summoned him gathered in a semicircle behind him. This made the fat little man most uncomfortable, and the feeling wasn't helped any when these four were joined by five others. They seemed to be inspecting him. Pezi wanted to return their stares, but instead he smiled weakly at Naquin.
The High Priest noticed his discomfort, and a frown creased his forehead. "Shoo! Shoo away there!" Naquin said angrily, nicking his hand at his dark advisors as if they were flies on the pudding. All stepped back obediently, but Pezi remained very aware of their presence. "Just imagine they're not there," Naquin. advised. "It's the only thing that helps. Now, where were we?" Pezi cleared his throat and said, "Well, I was in the dungeon-" "Oh, I don't mean that. I'm Naquin, High Priest of the Unified Dragonfaith. And you're Pezi, a merchant of Ognadzu." Pezi nodded in agreement. The High Priest had everything right so far.
"And you've reported to my Lord the King that Chaomonous is mobilizing for war." Once again Pezi nodded. Naquin chuckled, pleased with himself. "You see, I know a great deal about what goes on in the palace." Naquin leaned forward and winked. "I have my advisors, you see. I realize they're strange, but they do get the job done. Besides, they're loyal to the Hood. That's, ah, this blue thing I have on my head," Naquin explained, tapping the sapphire-studded headpiece and then readjusting it self-consciously. "Hasn't been sized yet." He chuckled nervously, then sat back in his opulently stuffed chair and endeavored to relax himself. "My father died recently. I've only lately come under the Hood. Naturally, that has left me with a lot to learn.
My advisors have informed me that my father was great friends with your uncle Flayh." "Friends?" Pezi blurted out in surprise. "With Flayh?" "Ah, perhaps allies would be a better word. My father was a very difficult man to get along with. I never managed to." "I never get along with Flayh either," Pezi confessed quietly, then looked over his shoulder again to see if anyone were taking notes.
"Don't worry," Naquin smiled, and he tapped his headpiece again. Pezi settled cautiously back into his seat. "We should be great friends then, shouldn't we, Pezi?" Pezi smiled slowly, with extreme anxiety. He feared this young ruler was about to make a fool of him, but he couldn't help himself. Pezi liked to be liked.
In fact, Naquin was making a strong bid for real friendship. He was so isolated in this giant holy place, so cut off from the outside by the constant attendance of his nine wardens, that any glimpse of the world beyond the walls came like a shaft of light through the stained glass. Now he leaned forward earnestly and laid his hand on Pezi's knee. "Tell me then, friend Pezi. How is it with your uncle-and what news do you bring me?" Pezi shifted uncomfortably, then leaned forward to meet him. "Do they have to stand there? Can't they stand across the room or something?" "Over there!" Naquin commanded imperiously, and the nine blue-cowled figures shuffled to the wall and formed a line against it. "Now." Pezi sought to remember what Flayh had ordered him to say. Haltingly he began, "The-ah-the King of Lamath has-ah-he's blasphemed the dragon. And- ah-he's sending his army to attack the beast. Ah-if you don't move now, to-ah-weaken the morale of the army, you'll lose your-ah-Hood." Pezi glanced nervously around at the advisors, who were whispering among themselves. That made him feel more insecure than ever, and he looked back at Naquin for some indication of the High Priest's response.
Naquin stared at him for a moment, blank-faced, then shook his head and murmured, "There was more nonsense in that one statement than I've heard from all my advisors combined since my father died-and that's a whole lot of nonsense!" Pezi choked, but said nothing. Already he was speculating on the nature of Naquin's dungeon. Doubtless he would be spending some time there.
Naquin gazed down at the hem of his robe where it bunched heavily around his ornate sandals. "It sounds as if Flayh is at least as big a liar as my father was," he murmured, then added, "Maybe bigger." The High Priest glanced up at Pezi's white face and smiled warmly. "But apparently, Pezi, you are a terrible liar! You ought at least to be a trifle creative with the general outline your uncle gives you, or you could get into a lot of trouble. You see, the King is anything but a dragon blasphemer. In fact, the old man's gone so holy on us he's wishing he could get himself eaten by the beast!" "Oh, I knew that," Pezi blurted out. He really knew of nothing better to say.
Naquin examined him curiously. "Then why all this other foolishness?" Pezi shrugged sheepishly. "That's-ah-just what my uncle told me to say." Naquin was amazed. Far from being annoyed with Pezi, he felt positively pleased. Here was living proof that he was not the only incompetent in a position of responsibility. What he needed to learn, Naquin decided, was how to gather the Pezis of the world around him and manipulate them to insure his continued position. Perhaps he could keep this Hood yet.
"Thank you, Pezi, for your honesty. I appreciate that in a man. I'm going to need your help in enacting a plan I think will benefit both your house and myself." Naquin leaned forward and spoke so softly that only Pezi could hear. "The King wishes to be consumed by the dragon in an act of ultimate devotion. How could the High Priest be any more loyal than to help the King get his wish?" Naquin's smile curled into a sneer, and Pezi's face now twisted to mirror Naquin's expression back at him.
"Yes-how could he be more loyal?" Pezi agreed. Naquin sat back on his throne and folded his hands on his lap. "Yes, Pezi," he affirmed, "you and I are going to be great friends." Bronwynn pored earnestly over the characters in the flickering firelight. So hard did she squint, so deep were the furrows of concentration plowed into her forehead, that her delicate eyebrows nearly touched over the bridge of her nose. She read out loud, her voice now halting as she unraveled skeins of words woven into complicated passages, then skipping as she raced through fragments easily understood. Pelman nodded frequently, mouthing the words along with her and helping her when she stumbled. Rosha sat against the wall, his arms locked
around the one knee he had drawn to his chin, and leaned his head against the stone. It was hard to tell whether he was visualizing the passages as Bronwynn read them, or daydreaming.
"It's easy, Rosha," Bronwynn exclaimed. "It's in our tongue, only the runes are different." Rosha grunted to prove he was awake, and the girl raced on, excited. "Perhaps it is a bit difficult at first-the characters are . So oddly shaped-but it doesn't take long to learn. Why don't you try it?" Rosha opened one eyelid and looked at her, then shook his head and leaned against the wall once more.
"When he chooses to learn there will be time," Pelman told her. Then he pointed to the place where he wanted her to begin again.
"But why is it in our speech?" Bronwynn asked.
"Why w-w-wouldn't it b-be?" Rosha challenged her.
"There are other lands, Rosha, and many use tongues other than ours-" The girl turned again to Pelman. "But I don't understand why, if these people used our speech, they made use of these strangely shaped runes." "I think the fathers of all our lands used these same characters in the time long past. I think they chose deliberately to change them, when the one land was divided into three." Rosha sat up at that. Bronwynn looked puzzled. Both waited for Pelman to explain.
"Have you never thought it strange," he began, "that though the three lands hold one another in ridicule, still the speech is the same wherever in the three lands you may travel?" "The s-s-speech is not the s-same," Rosha muttered. "I can barely under-s-stand the b-b-brothers." "Yes, the dialects differ," Pelman agreed, "but you can understand. Certain words may sound strange on the lips of the brothers, but their meanings stay the same, whether here or on the streets of the High City, or on the plains of southern Chaomonous." "Aren't the merchants responsible for that?" Bronwynn asked thoughtfully.
"Responsible for preserving the common speech, yes-very possibly responsible for our present alphabet as well, after these runes disappeared. But could merchant houses influence any of our lands to adopt this tongue on the basis of trade alone?" "But if the three lands were once united, why would they choose to divide?" Bronwynn wondered.
"P-p-perhaps they d-didn't choose," Rosha muttered. "P-perhaps it was chosen for them." "It was both chosen for them and they chose, Rosha. Few changes that great occur from a single cause. Many factors worked on our fathers of old to destroy the one land. All are described in that book Bronwynn holds." "Please, Pelman, tell us! It's so much easier to hear you explain it than to try to read it all." Pelman nodded, then reached out to take the book from her and seated himself on the stone shelf. Bronwynn scooted the stool away to give him room. Then she leaned against the wall beside Rosha. The small cell seemed more so with all three of them crammed inside, but to Pelman it seemed the safest place to pursue their study.
He placed the lamp to one side, closed his eyes, and began. "It's hard to condense factors without making generalizations, but the breaking of the one land resulted from our fathers' inability to integrate all they discovered in the one land's last age. There were so many people then-many more than live today-and so much happened so fast. Various groups of men began to cluster around ideas they held in common. There were those who saw the powers of the air as inanimate forces that could be controlled by physical means. They built devices to harness the powers and hold them in tension. Others viewed these powers as spirits of the wind and fire, that could only be controlled by magic. These were the ancient powershapers, who scoffed at using tools to bend the powers. Still others clustered around various leaders, men who taught that the powers aided only those who worshipped them. None of these groups could live with the others.
"Too much took place to sketch here-that's why I want you to read the book, my Lady-but it seems that man is foolish enough to believe that if he can hurt another man sufficiently, that other man will come to agree with him." "There was war?" Bronwynn asked.
"Many wars, Bronwynn. Certain men of great authority devised a plan that would separate these warring factions from one another, hoping that with separation would come peace. It was never their intention that this be permanent-they only wished to keep men away from one another's throats until the race learned to integrate all these parts of its personality. Their plan succeeded beyond their expectations-and well beyond their wishes as well. The capital city of the one land disappeared." "Where was it?" Bronwynn asked excitedly. "N-ngandib-Mar? On the high p-plateau?" Rosha suggested.
"I bet it was somewhere in Chaomonous," said the girl.
"I've never found it," Pelman replied quietly. "It disappeared, along with its history, its art-and its writing. Except for the book," he added, patting the volume absently.
"What was their plan? Does it say?" Pelman opened the heavy codex, flipped through it until he found the page he wanted, and passed it back to the girl. "Read there." Once again Bronwynn knitted her brows together and read: "We have succeeded in crafting the beast through our unified efforts. The power of the subject can only be guessed, but it seems clear from our experiments that it will be fully capable of dominating man's history for at least a short period-long enough, perhaps, for our race to come of age." Bronwynn glanced up at Pelman, wide-eyed. "What beast?" she asked. He motioned to the page, and she read: "We have taught him the rudiments of common speech, and given him a name. From this point forward we will attempt to increase the natural hostility of the beast with calculated cruelty. When we at last unleash Vicia-Heinox on the world, we trust he will be enough of a challenge to mankind's existence that dealing with him will demand the best energies of all cooperating factions." Bronwynn stopped incredulously. "They made the dragon?" "And the dragon unmade them." Pelman stood, his head bumping the low ceiling, and stretched his arms before him. "How long it's been since those words were written, I've no idea. This, though, is the section of most concern to me." Pelman leaned over and flipped through the pages once again. He read upside down, for the book lay in Bronwynn's lap, but at last he found his place, and pointed.
The young lady cleared her throat and read: "The thing is done. It cannot be undone now. But one will come, the Power assures us, who will set things right again. You will know that one has come when the dragon is divided." Bronwynn bit her lip thoughtfully, then looked up at Pelman. "The dragon is divided now." Pelman nodded. "Then is this speaking of you?" Pelman sighed. "It appears so." Every day, two or three seekers would come to the monastery to inquire if there was a new prophet in the land. Pelman met with each one, but volunteered nothing more than he was asked. If one had an illness that needed curing he cured it. If there was some quarrel that needed arbitration, he judged it. He did not explain where his power originated, nor did anyone need to ask. The prophetic tradition in Lamath was a long one.
When there was a prophet available to give counsel or aid, the people of the land sought him out. Pelman asked only one thing of these whose lives he touched- that they not take it upon themselves to proclaim his presence publicly. When the time was right, he assured them, he would do it himself. Most seekers willingly abided by this condition, for until he became known, a prophet was a local preserve, a natural resource which need not be shared. But there were a few who could not contain their wonder. A new prophet had come, and they were witnesses to it! So the news continued to spread, and each day seekers arrived from farther away.
Occasionally he was asked to travel. Wherever he went he was always accompanied by an oddly matched pair of initiates. One was fair and slight and seemed so delicate in his movements the seekers deemed him effeminate. The other hid broad shoulders under the folds of his robe, and more. A telltale billowing of his gown at the hip suggested that beneath it he wore a sword. This was so contrary to the calling of an initiate that many who saw that sword-shaped bulge denied to them. selves they had seen it. But it was noised around that while the Prophet himself seemed holy enough, the two with him were somewhat unusual.
The three rode one afternoon to the home of a local aristocrat, ostensibly for the purpose of blessing his crops. The wealthy fa
rmer's true motive was to get a look at this miracle worker who had so unexpectedly appeared in his own back yard. He was leery of the presence of a prophet in his neighborhood, for Lamathian prophets had always been notorious for favoring the poor over the rich. But as a local leader he had a responsibility at least to meet the man. Perhaps the fellow could be of some practical financial value.
The hot, muggy weather had held Lamath in its grip for days, but this looked like the day it might change. Clouds had moved into the region the night before, and now they piled one atop the other into charcoal-colored towers that threatened a violent storm. Rosha's eyes were on these storm clouds as the farmer led them across his acreage, and he turned to mutter his suspicions to Bronwynn.
"If there was any danger, Pelman would surely warn us," she whispered back.
"S-such c-c-confidence may p-prove excessive," Rosha warned her, but she was no longer listening. Even when the wind picked up to the point that it was wrapping their robes tightly around their legs, and Rosha had to turn his back on the others to keep his greatsword from showing up in bold relief, Bronwynn still would not speak with him about it.
The Prophet Of Lamath Page 23