"You are." "You really want to understand this?" Naquin thought for a moment. "No," he answered honestly, "for I'm afraid you'll want to bore me with a lot of religious rubbish. Actually, I just came to see you for myself." Pelman smiled slowly. "Here I am." Naquin raised his eyebrows, but did not comment. "It may be of interest to you that I am concerned about your welfare. It seems Serphimera finds your Prophethood most distressing. Why is that?" "She worships the dragon. I don't." The gathered advisors muttered and whispered at that, but Naquin smiled.
"How interesting! I don't either. Perhaps we can be of some real use to each other, after all. I consider the Priestess to be a gigantic nuisance, and I appreciate any annoyance you may have caused her. Now, General Asher has decided that you are to be publicly drawn as an example to other false prophets, and he has sent that request to the King. He'll sign it, of course. The King loves Serphimera. Which leaves you in a rather nasty situation, doesn't it?" "Does it?" Pelman asked quietly.
"I think so, yes. You do know the function of the drawing blocks?" "I do." "You understand, then. Now, my feeling is this.
Asher is gone to war and the King is hidden, dragon knows where. That leaves me as the most powerful man in the capital. If you'll agree to aid me in a little scheme my allies and I have worked up, I'll declare you an officially recognized Prophet of Lamath. Coming from under the Hood that should carry some weight . . . this hood is certainly heavy enough!" Naquin chuckled at his own joke, and Pelman managed a smile. "What about it?" Pelman sighed, and looked around him at his situation. Then he tilted his eyes upward. "Whatever," he said. He was speaking to the Power.
"Very good," Naquin replied, interpreting that as consent. "My associate will explain the plan. Pezi? Come down here." Pelman sat up at this, looking beyond the hooded figures to see if this was the Pezi he knew. The first part of the rotund little man to come in sight was his belly. Yes, thought Pelman. It was Pezi.
"He has agreed," Naquin muttered. "Explain the schemes." "Now, Prophet," Pezi began. "First we-" Pezi stopped, his jaw agape.
"Hello, Pezi." "Pelman the player!" Pezi burst out.
"What are you saying?" Naquin asked him.
"This is no prophet! He is Pelman the player! He's a crazy actor from Chaomonous!" "A what?" "An actor! He puts on plays!" "What's a play?" Naquin asked his advisors, but none of them knew.
"This is a very dangerous man!" Pezi exclaimed. "In fact, he may well be responsible for bringing destruction on all the world!" "Oh really?" Naquin said, amused. "This fellow in the cage?" The High Priest chuckled.
"It was he who confused the dragon!" "He did?" Naquin looked in at Pelman. "I'm coming to like you more and more!" "My Lord, he is dangerous!" Pezi cried.
"Not to me, friend Pezi. To me he is a new prophet who may prove a very valuable resource." "He is also known to be a sorcerer!" Pezi whispered anxiously in the High Priest's ear. Naquin stopped laughing, and looked at Pelman with a new seriousness.
"Are you a sorcerer?" he asked. Pelman shrugged.
Pezi pressed his point home. "Didn't you wonder when they told you he controlled the winds?" "Yes," Naquin agreed, watching Pelman's face.
"And when the Seachief said it was this man alone who sank the Chaon fleet?" "Yes." Naquin stiffened. "What do you want with Lamath, sorcerer?" he asked sharply. He suddenly felt very uncomfortable. The very mention of magic frightened him.
"I want only to see it free of this bondage you call the Dragonfaith." "I see." Naquin turned to look at Pezi. "So. We let the order stand as it is, then?" Pezi nodded vigorously. The High Priest retreated hastily to the shelter of his giant temple, trailed by nine lanky spectres and one bouncing butterball.
Rosha and Bronwynn rode all that night and the next day. They stopped only for quick naps that were far too short to refresh them, and to beg chunks of bread in the villages they passed through. Though many villagers heaped abuse upon them for being so obviously initiates of the Divisionist sect, all provided some bit of food for the journey. It was the custom in Lamath to give initiates what they begged for and to speed them on their way. So Rosha and Bronwynn were well fed, but were left alone, and they rode unhindered to the capital city.
In the few weeks they had lived in this land, they had not traveled anywhere without seeing soldiers. Now the roads were empty, and by this they knew that the armies all had marched, and the battle at last was joined.
"Is he with them?" Bronwynn wondered aloud. Rosha wouldn't answer. But Bronwynn was lonely and needed to talk. "It is incredible to imagine that all this started when Ligne and Kherda had me kidnapped. Think of it-a war being fought over me!" "Lamath," Rosha interrupted. "S-see the smoke?" They rode harder then, and by sundown they reached the outskirts of the sprawling city. Bronwynn realized then why Rosha had been so silent. He was frightened.
They begged their dinner and found a deserted alleyway to gobble it down. "Where do we start looking?" Bronwynn asked, and Rosha shrugged.
He was oppressed by the buildings. Not by their height, nor by the skill of their construction, for in truth they were nothing but the hovels of rural squatters on the edge of the capital. What oppressed him was the sheer number of structures. They had ridden past row after row of shacks, yet seemed no closer to the distant The prophet of Lamath 277 palaces than when they had first entered the burgeoning township. There was a noise to his left, and Rosha's sword leapt into his hand as he spun around to face the danger. Bronwynn couldn't help but laugh.
"Wh-what is it!" he demanded.
"It's just a cat. Haven't you ever seen a cat before?" "There are h-h-hordes of these cats!" Rosha yelled, and now Bronwynn saw them too-scores of cats, all of different colors, who ran along the piles of debris that filled the alley, who jumped from one squat roof to another, who slipped liquidly into hiding at the sound of Rosha's shout. "We must leave this p-place!" "But cats aren't dangerous-" Rosha sheathed his sword and stalked swiftly out of the alley. His companion ran to catch up with him, and soon they were mounted and again on their way.
"I d-don't like this city," Rosha snorted. Bronwynn was quick to agree, city dweller though she was. Never had she seen so many cats or so much garbage, and she began to long for the marble columns of Chaomonous.
They rode aimlessly through the maze of streets, becoming steadily more confused and frustrated. Vainly, they sought a main thoroughfare that would lead them to the heart of Lamath. The few people they met on the streets stared at them. Not only were they initiates, a rare sight in the city, but they were mounted. The two riders felt extremely out of place.
"Where are we going?" Bronwynn growled at last. • "D-do I look like I kn-know?" Rosha snapped back", but as she started to tell him that he certainly didn't, an idea came to him. "The river! P-perhaps some man who works with b-boats could tell us where P-p-Pelman has gone." "We haven't been able to find a main street," Bronwynn complained. "How are we going to find the river?" But she had to admit that it was a better idea than any she had suggested.
They had made so many wrong turns, it was time for their luck to change. Rosha chose a direction and led them straight to the river. He tried not to gloat, but Bronwynn couldn't miss the intent of his pleased little grin. There, however, bad fortune caught up with them again; no one on the docks would admit to knowing anything about the Prophet.
"I know nothing," one tough old seaman growled, his religious sensitivities offended by the color of their gowns. "The only fool who bought the Prophet's line is that saltbrain, Erri. He swallowed the hook and the float as well!" "This-Erri. He's-a sailor?" Bronwynn asked earnestly.
"Calls himself one," the seaman groused.
"Wh-where can we f-f-find him?" Rosha asked, and the old sailor glared at him silently in response.
"Please, sir," Bronwynn implored, "tell us, where to find this man! It's very important!" The seaman grimaced in disgust, then waved his arm toward a mooring some distance downriver. "The King's Dock, if you're a-mind. But you're fools." Then he disappeared up the
rigging of his boat. A few minutes later, Rosha and Bronwynn stood face to face with Erri the sailor.
"The Prophet? Of course I know the Prophet. I sailed with him, didn't I?" Erri looked suspiciously at these two blue-robed figures. "Might you be spies, come to entrap me somehow for my friendship with that man?" "Not spies, not at all!" Bronwynn cried brightly.
"We are his friends, his initiates! We've come from the country to find him!" "You won't find him here," Erri grunted, and he started to climb back aboard his ship.
"Then tell us where we can find him," Bronwynn pleaded.
"You really don't know?" Erri asked. Then he grunted again. "Well, even if you were spies, I'd be giving nothing away. I'll tell you the truth. I really don't know myself. But if you truly seek him, you might check around the King's own dungeon. I've heard nothing of him these three days, and I'll wager that's where they hold him." Bronwynn's face had paled. "Why?" she asked. "Because he won a victory for us," Erri snorted.
Then he cursed. "I don't pretend to understand it." "C-can you d-direct us to this dungeon?" Rosha asked, and Erri studied the young man's face for signs of duplicity.
"You don't know that either?" "We're from the country," Bronwynn explained, "we know nothing of this place!" "Lucky, then," Erri commented, and he looked around him. The sun was setting. There was nothing to do aboard ship. Nothing in the bars but a brew and a brawl. And he had liked Pelman. "I'll take you." He hopped up onto the deck of his vessel and disappeared below; but soon his head popped back out of the hatch and he jumped down to join them on the wharf. "Best not to ride these animals to the palace. The army will surely relieve you of them. I know a man who keeps horses-he has a few honest days each week. Perhaps tonight will be one of them." The two travelers followed his advice and stabled the horses, promising the innkeeper a worthy, reward when they returned. Then they were off on foot to the palace of the King. They drew fewer stares now, but they still made an unusual picture-two initiates in torn and grimy sacred blue, with a foul-mouthed sailor between them.
At first Erri refused to speak with the warder, and he tried his best to keep the young couple from approaching the man. "It's too dangerous! Better to wait at the dungeon gate and talk with the guards as they leave!" But the young pair had ridden too far and been without rest too long to have the patience that plan required. They were going to speak to the warder whether Erri came or not. Erri wouldn't allow them to go in without him, so all three walked up to the gate.
The warder of the dungeon was no fool. He had heard the story of the Prophet's confrontation with the Priestess, and knew there had been two initiates. These two wore the same colors that Pelman did. The warder arrested them without another thought. "And since we have plenty of room below-" he began, but Erri didn't let him finish. He shot out the door of the warder's office, running as fast as his short little legs would carry him. He knew he could never outrun his pursuers, but he surely could outclimb them. Alas, there were no handholds on the apartment houses that lined the street, and no ropes hanging from the lamp posts. A few minutes later he was sharing a cell with Rosha and Bronwynn, just a few paces away from the cage that held Pelman.
"I knew I should never have agreed to aid you!" Erri screamed. "I knew it!" "Erri, is that you?" Pelman called from down the corridor.
"Pelman!" yelped Bronwynn, and she dashed back and forth through their cell, looking for some crack or window through which she could see him. She found none.
"Is Rosha with you?" "He's here." "Why didn't you stay at the monastery?" Pelman wanted to know.
Bronwynn related to him all that had happened since their parting, how Admon Faye had killed the Elder, and how Rosha had killed Admon Faye.
"He isn't d-dead," Rosha reminded her, wishing mightily that the girl's words were true.
"What about the book?" Pelman called doubtfully. The book! Bronwynn had left it in the bag on Minaliss' saddle! "I-I hope your innkeeper friend is as honest as you say," she said to Erri, who was sitting angrily in a corner of the cell, "because one of those horses carries a book that cannot be replaced." "What? This old thing?" Erri pulled the book from where he'd stuffed it in the waistband of his pants, and Bronwynn danced joyfully across the straw of the dungeon floor to whisk it out of his hands. "I borrowed it," Erri explained defensively. "I like to read sometimes when my mates are off drinking. I was going to return it anyway, because it's no good. It doesn't have proper writing!" "Pelman, it's here!" Bronwynn yelled through the door, and Pelman relaxed his grip on the bars of his cage and settled back onto the floor.
"Good," he called. "Then we have something to do while we wait to-then we have something to do. We can read the book." "Well, read it to yourselves!" an angry voice called from another cell. "We're trying to get some sleep here!" It was one of Pezi's cousins. Though Pezi had come to a position of influence with the High Priest, he had refused to argue for the release of his family members. One could hardly blame this cousin for his sour disposition.
Bronwynn and Rosha were too tired to read, anyway. They slept in the straw while Erri and Pelman shared a quiet conversation about the nature of the Power.
"What good is this Power," Erri whispered down the corridor, "if it can't keep you out of prison?" "Sometimes I wonder that myself," Pelman replied. He shifted, seeking a comfortable position for sleep. But there would be no sleep tonight. Only memories of an old friend, lost to the dagger of Admon Faye.
While most of Lamath slept, its army continued to march. By morning, General Asher and his troops stood at the northern mouth of Dragonsgate.
Sometime in the night a small contingent of guards came marching down the corridor and unlocked Pelman's cage. He was still half asleep as they dragged him from the tiny cell and carried him farther down the hallway.
Erri was awake when the key turned in the lock. He jumped up and scrambled to the door, and so was right in Pelman's path as they tossed the Prophet into the room and slammed the door behind him. The two fell in a heap on the floor, and Pelman immediately rolled off.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Pair enough," Erri answered, struggling to his feet. "I hope I made your landing a bit less painful. Why did they move you down here? And at this hour?" "I've no idea-" "Someone to see the Prophet," came a call from the corridor, and once again the door opened and someone stepped inside. There was no light in the dungeon, so Pelman didn't recognize her until a guard followed her in with a lighted torch. It was Serphimera.
"What's going on?" Bronwynn called sleepily from the comer.
"Someone to see the Prophet," Erri hushed her. "Go on back to sleep." "The Prophet is here?" Bronwynn exclaimed, and she jumped from her pile of straw and ran to Pelman. She hugged his neck, crying words of greeting, and he responded by wrapping her in his arms.
"Excuse us, my Lady," Pelman smiled at Serphimera over Bronwynn's shoulder. "We've been separated for several days." "So I understood from the warder." Perhaps it was the acoustics of the cell, but Serphimera's voice seemed tinged with jealousy. Pelman gently pulled Bronwynn's arms from around his neck, and grinned at her.
"Where's Rosha?" he whispered.
"You know Rosha. He could sleep through an earthquake." "I'm here," Rosha murmured from the comer. "Since I d-don't expect to be g-going anywhere, I'll let you greet your g-guest." Bronwynn looked around at Serphimera and frowned.
"What's she doing here?" she asked.
"We're about to find out," Pelman said quietly.
Serphimera cocked an eyebrow and surveyed Bronwynn's ragged, bloodstained garment. "Since when have the Divisionist brothers been accepting female initiates?" "I asked that they conceal the girl among themselves, and they complied." "Do you find that heretical, too, Priestess?" Bronwynn sneered.
"My mission here has nothing to do with you, my child," Serphimera said. "Would you excuse us, please?" "I am not your child-" "Bronwynn," Pelman murmured, and the girl turned to look up at him. "Let me speak with her." "Here, girl, I've made you a new pi
le of straw," Erri called from a dark comer of the cell, and Bronwynn laughed derisively.
"I'm the child, being sent to bed, then?" she snarled. "Very well, my master! Perhaps in the morning you'll relate to us what the lady had to say?" No one missed the bitterness in her voice.
"Bronwynn, let them b-be!" Rosha called, and the sulking girl finally went to sit beside him. She whispered heatedly in his ear as Pelman looked at the Priestess.
The Prophet Of Lamath Page 29