The road they followed was really no more than a wide path, one of many that linked small villages together. The broad roads would be unsafe for them today, Pelman had advised, for the majority of the surrounding villages supported Serphimera wholeheartedly, and news of her pronouncement of doom would fly most swiftly along the' major highways. At times they seemed to ride through a leafy tunnel, for the grass grew thick to either side and the branches of the trees often intertwined above them. There was little noise- chirping birds, an occasional cricket, the soft plodding of their horses-nothing to disturb them as each rider remained wrapped in thought.
But it could not continue so. They had to cross the Mashab River to get home, and there were few bridges. They rejoined the main highway just a few hundred yards from the bridge they had -crossed that morning. Pelman jerked suddenly on Minaliss' reins, and the horse stopped immediately. There were soldiers on the bridge. "This looks unhealthy," Pelman grunted quietly.
"That spiteful-" Bronwynn began. "You mean she's turned the army against us?" "I believe the lady capable of that, yes," Pelman answered. "Rosha, leave your sword where it is." The young man had stealthily drawn the hem of his robe aside, preparing to pull his blade. He dropped the robe back down his leg, wondering how Pelman had known, since he was directly behind the Prophet.
Now Pelman turned in his saddle and looked him squarely in the face. "Never pull your sword against a troop of Lamathian soldiers. It's true they use stubby little knives compared to that greatsword you carry, but I assure you they are quite skillful with those little instruments. Two or three you could handle. A dozen? Best to remain a pious initiate." "They're riding t-t-toward us," Rosha informed Pelman quietly.
The Prophet turned around to face the oncoming riders, muttering, "I was afraid they would. How did she get to them so fast?" The leader of the troop quickly answered Pelman's question. She hadn't. "Greetings, Prophet. We've been waiting here all day for your return. How went your meeting with the Priestess?" "She appears . . . quite powerful-" Pelman began cautiously, and the soldier quickly cut him off.
"I am sure she would say the same of you. The Chieftain of Defense and Expansion has heard with joy the news of a new Prophet in Lamath, and has sent me to inform you that the King and the Dragonfaith are in need of your services. A vessel waits below the bridge and I am to set you aboard it." The man spoke so swiftly there was no chance for Pelman to interrupt. Now he blurted, "But why?" The soldier looked at him sharply, curiously. "There is war in Lamath, have you not heard? And a prophet in wartime sails with the fleet. Come, we've no time to waste. The Chaon fleet has safely passed the Border Straits and already harasses the southern coastline. You must sail now, or our fleet risks being bottled in the river." The leader made to grab Pelman's reins, but Minaliss wheeled swiftly out of his reach, unwilling to let any man save Pelman lead him.
The Prophet calmed the animal and nodded curtly. "I will come. But may I speak a word to my initiates?" "A swift word." The captain nodded; then he led his group of riders a decent distance away to give the Prophet a moment of privacy.
Rosha's look of horror was mirrored in Bronwynn's pretty features. Both were dazed by this sudden shift of circumstance. Pelman spoke rapidly, reaching out to grip Rosha's right hand and Bronwynn's left and squeezing both to punctuate his commands.
"Ride to the monastery. Study the book! Don't leave there, and don't let that book be injured. If Serphimera should show herself, and I expect she will, hide in the cavern. Do not confront her! Rosha, keep your sword in its scabbard, and Bronwynn, keep your tongue in your mouth! I'll come as quickly as I can." He gave each hand a parting squeeze, then let them go.
"I'm going with you," Bronwynn said, and Rosha echoed, "And I!" Pelman looked at them both, and thought about it. "Impossible. Soldiers wouldn't allow it," he said, shaking his head. "Prophets are considered good luck in wartime. Initiates are always a jinx. Besides, who would protect the book?" He gave them no time to argue, but bade them a quick good-bye and rode toward the soldiers. He turned to look back over his shoulder. "Take Minaliss on with you! I'll have need of him later." Then he gifted the stunned young couple with a smile that hearkened back to friendlier days on the battlements of Dorlyth's castle. Upset though they were, his smile was contagious. Bronwynn giggled, and Rosha's face cracked into a grin. Pelman was off with the group of riders, and they watched him dismount and walk down the river bank and out of view. Their smiles died, and they just sat there for a moment, absorbing this surprise.
"At least he gave us an explanation this time," Bronwynn murmured. Then she looked at Rosha. "He didn't just tell us to go home." "He m-might as well have," Rosha snorted, and he urged his horse into a trot and rode onto the bridge. Already the boat was slipping away to the southeast. Rosha followed it until it turned with the twisting Mashab and moved out of sight. On the deck a small figure clothed in brilliant blue lifted an arm to wave, then was gone. Rosha looked at Bronwynn, who had ridden up to join him. "We had b-best g-g-go on." Minaliss stood in the middle of the bridge, looking puzzled. Bronwynn reached out to pat his nose, and he remembered her ... a brown-haired slip of a girl he had carried a long, long way. He nuzzled up against her leg, and she patted his flank.
"Confused, aren't you?" Bronwynn murmured to the powerful beast; then she gazed downriver where the boat had disappeared. "So are we, old friend. So are we."
Chapter Eleven
SERPHIMERA did not stop walking when she arrived at Serphila. She passed through the growing township without a word of greeting to any of the hundreds who massed there to welcome her. Instead she made straight for her chapel and locked its doors behind her. Those who had traveled with her explained her behavior to the people who had waited behind. "The Prophet is a blasphemer!" Never had Serphimera's followers seen her so anxious or so angry. The next morning she made an impromptu sermon to what villagers were awake that early, then started east for the capital. She had concluded that this Prophet needed to be stopped.
As she hiked out of the city, word spread rapidly. "The smile of the Priestess is gone. The false Prophet has stolen it." A large band swarmed after her as she walked purposefully down the broad highway to Lamath. But an even larger group surged out of town in the other direction, toward the dwelling of the false Prophet. The Divisionist monastery he occupied was obviously a hotbed of heresy. It needed to be cleansed. Along with these angry, threatening marchers traveled one who had only arrived in Serphila the previous day. No one really knew his name. All the way up and down the line he was referred to only as the ugly man on the white horse. It was chilling to look the fellow in the face, but one thing was generally agreed upon throughout the line of march. When they got to where they were going, he was the one who would know exactly what to do.
General Asher was aware of Serphimera's approach long before she arrived. The spy network he had constructed through the central plains of Lamath was unequaled, even among the merchant houses. He had recognized the rural penchant for gossip and simply harnessed it. He considered the result one of his foremost achievements in office. But strangely, though he knew all about the confrontation between Pelman and the Priestess the day it occurred, he. did not know the results of that meeting until he heard it from Serphimera's own lips. "The man is a heretic and a blasphemer." Asher chuckled quietly and settled back into his canvas field chair. ""I take it you two disagreed. There couldn't be some, let's say, professional jealousy in your evaluation of him?" The Priestess did not blink. She transfixed the General with those forest-green eyes. "No. He is what I say." Her gaze made Asher uncomfortable, and he pushed himself out of his seat and walked to the tent flaps. The camp spread for miles in every direction. Since his command post stood on the only hill in the area, he could see much of the camp's activity, from his door. Everywhere there was bustling confusion, the delightful disorder of the preparation for war.
"He isn't sending Lamathian citizens away to be eaten, is he?" Asher asked, his back still turned to her.
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br /> "General Asher," Serphimera began, and a chill chattered through him. Her voice had taken on that seductive quality that had so mesmerized him in the past. "I know you are a believer. I can see it in your life, hear it in the way you issue orders. The dragon will reward you for that." He did not turn to look at her, so she came to stand directly behind him and continued to soothe in subtle tones as she worked to make her point. "You have expanded the realm of Lamath farther north than any war chieftain before you-surely you don't imagine you did that on your own? I know you don't. And I know, too, that were you to hear this counterfeit Prophet, you would be as anxious as I to remove him from Lamathian life." She placed her hands on his shoulders, an electric touch that made his back tingle. "General Asher, he has no tradition. He does not abide by the old understanding, but brings a new belief. And-he says the dragon is divided." "What does he say?" The General turned to face her, and was nearly overpowered by her warmth and closeness.
"That the dragon is at war with himself!" General Asher scowled. "At war with himself?" Serphimera danced lightly away, her point made. "Simple heresy," she added, but she needn't have. The angry red glow in the General's cheeks gave evidence that he was already convinced. "He needs to be captured," Serphimera advised, "and locked away, so that he can do no more harm to others. Or to himself," she added quietly. "I know where you may find him-" "Oh, I know where he is," Asher growled, cursing his own impulsiveness. "He travels with our own navy!" "What for?" Serphimera demanded.
"It is the tradition that a Prophet in Lamath at wartime rides with the ships to battle." "You could not have waited until after I met him?" she snarled bitterly.
"No. Time was too critical. I needed to rush our navy onto the sea before the Chaon fleet reached the delta and bottled us in the river." "Can he be stopped?" "Not now. Your meeting took place two days ago?" "I came as swiftly as I could-" "You are too late. His boat passed by here yesterday, and the fleet left the harbor of Lamath this morning. By this time it should be moving into the ocean-if not already engaged in battle." Serphimera clenched her jaws in frustration. Asher patted her on the shoulder, then immediately withdrew his hand, surprised at his own familiarity with this, the greatest Priestess of the land. "Calm yourself. If the Chaons sink his vessel, we need concern ourselves with him no longer. If he does return, I myself will meet him at the dock, and carry him from the victory celebration to the dungeon." "Never had much dealings with prophets, myself," the wiry sailor remarked. "Always got a queer feeling when I passed one of them dragon statues." "Does the same thing to me," Pelman said merrily, and he drew a deep draught of salty air into his lungs. It had been some time since he last saw the ocean, and even longer since he had traveled on it. He noticed the sailor was eyeing him with curiosity, and smiled. The wind and the salt had somehow renewed his spirits.
"I take that as strange, I do," Erri the sailor observed. "Seems like a prophet fellow would get a real thrill out of one of them monsters." "Not this Prophet." Erri scratched his beard. "You seem a strange Prophet, at that." "Oh, I hope so." Pelman grinned.
"Aren't you afraid the Lord Dragon'11 be displeased?" "The dragon isn't the Lord." Erri jumped as if he'd stepped barefoot onto a jellyfish, and looked around for a place to hide. "Listen, Prophet, a ship is no place to play blasphemy! Suppose the Lord Dragon decides to burn you with a little flick of lightning! What's to prevent me from being charred along with you?" "Relax, Erri. I know that dragon, and he can't hear me. We're turning into the wind again," Pelman added, and Erri jumped up to help trim the yards as the oars along either side of the vessel slipped out in unison and began thrashing the water like so many centipede legs. The sounds of a beating drum and groaning men rose through the boards of the deck, dampening Pelman's cheerful mood. There had been a time when he, too, had worked an oar in the bowels of a battleship. He preferred to forget the experience.
Those who rowed below were mostly Chaon slaves. Ironic, Pelman thought, that the Chaon fleet would be powered primarily by Lamathian muscle. He doubted there were many Maris below deck. Maris made poor oarsmen. They were too small, usually, to pull much weight, and they spent too much time being seasick. Setting a Mari to an oar was like trying to hitch a mountain goat to a plow. When sea traders went shopping for oarsmen, they usually chose slaves from the other seafaring nation. Of this Pelman was sure, however: when the fleets closed for battle, Lamathian slaves would be cheering their Chaon masters, while Chaon slaves would show new loyalty for Lamath. Nationality had little meaning in the stinking hold of a battleship. What mattered there was survival.
Erri returned, swinging himself down to sit on a pile of rope. "So tell me, then," he continued, picking up the conversation as if he'd never left, "why are you a Prophet of the Dragon if you have such a low opinion of the beast himself?" "I'm not a Prophet of the dragon," Pelman replied evenly. Erri stared, his eyes and mouth very wide. Then he glanced up at the sky, fully expecting a cloud to appear suddenly in the clear blue and aim a fire bolt directly at them. Nothing happened, and he looked back at Pelman.
"Nothing happened," he observed needlessly.
"Of course not." "I don't understand. If you're not a Prophet, why pretend to be a Prophet?" "I didn't say I wasn't a Prophet. I just said I wasn't a Prophet of the dragon." Erri nodded, but his expression said he was puzzled. "I didn't know there was any other kind." "Didn't it ever seem strange to you, all this noise and excitement about a dragon?" Erri shrugged. "Not really. Religion is always strange. It doesn't have to make sense." "It does to me," Pelman murmured quietly. "Yeah, but you're a Prophet, see. Religion is supposed to make sense to a Prophet." Pelman didn't say anything. "Isn't it?" "Has nothing to do with religion, Erri. Has nothing to do with the dragon, either. What's important is the Power, Erri, not the Dragonfaith. All the rest is just wrapping." Erri chuckled. "See, you are a Prophet after all. I Can't understand anything you say." "Is that because you're afraid you shouldn't? Or because you do understand, and are afraid of what it might mean?" Pelman's eyes had been scanning the southern horizon as they spoke, and now he saw golden triangles, far away-the sails of the Chaon fleet. "Better warn the Seachief, Erri. We're about to meet our brothers from the south." At that moment bells began ringing on all the ships, and the salty air was filled with shouted orders. Erri scampered off to his station, but a thought sprang into his mind and he swiftly climbed back to ask Pelman, "Just one thing. If you don't believe in the Dragon, how you going to help us in this battle?" "The Power will have to show you that, my friend. At this point I really have no idea." The oars pulsed more quickly, in rhythm with the increasing pace of the oarsmaster's gavel. It was good the oarsmen could not see what they were rowing into. The sea warriors who stood in the prow of the battleship watched with dismay as more and more golden sails appeared on the horizon.
Pelman estimated that they were now fifty miles southeast of Lamath. Then he recognized a small harbor to starboard, and knew exactly where they were. It was a shallow little bay that he recalled from his travels along the coast-so full of treacherous shoals no Lamathian vessel ventured near it. He glanced to the east and the open sea and either saw or imagined a small cloud on that distant horizon. Suddenly an idea came, and he climbed a series of narrow steps to join the Seachief at the helm.
The commander of the fleet was a capable leader, but even he was distressed at the sight of that glistening armada. He smiled thinly at Pelman, and muttered, "Any ideas. Prophet?" "One small one. Veer toward the bay." The Seachief started, then chuckled. "Let the sailors do the sailing, Prophet. You concentrate on getting some wind behind us! They have the advantage of a southwester behind them." "I'll do my best-but you would do well to follow my suggestion." "That shallow little bay would sink my fleet!" "I didn't say move into the bay. I suggested only that you veer toward it." The Seachief looked Pelman over suspiciously, then gave a slight nod to the helmsman, and went to inform his signaler.
The Admiral of Chaomonous watched with interest as the smaller Lamathian fleet t
urned to make for a sheltered bay.
"Is that an inlet? Are they running? What?" He shouted at the captain who stood beside him, a merchant seaman who had been pressed into service by Talith, and liked it not a bit.
"I have no idea, my Lord," he grumbled. "It appears their commander wants to run his whole navy onto the rocks." "Ridiculous! He just doesn't want to engage me in the open sea. He wants to shelter in that little harbor and take us a few at a time." "My Lord Admiral, that'? a shallows you see, not a-" "Wouldn't the Lamathian commander know his own coastline?" the Admiral bellowed. He disliked this merchant. The fellow always found some reason why the Admiral's orders were foolhardy. He would not allow this merchant's overcautious nature to rob him of a total victory. "Helmsman, to port and make for that harbor. With the wind behind us, we'll beat him there." The eastern cloud grew larger, and Pelman concentrated his. attention on it. There was no sensation of making it grow, no feeling of shaping the powers of nature as he had in the past. It was only that he wished so for it to come . . . and it was coming.
"The Chaon fleet moves west to meet us!" cried a watchman hanging in the rigging.
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