Robert Don Hughes - Pelmen 2 - The Wizard in Waiting

The Wizard in Waiting [154-011-4.0]

By: Robert Don Hughes

Category: fiction fantasy

Synopsis:

No synopsis available.

CHAPTER ONE

A Dream of Betrayal

AWAKE AGAIN.

Those were the first words of the Imperial House of Chaomonous in over

a thousand years. The second words followed logically from the

first.

Therefore, the dragon is dead.

The Imperial House did not speak as men do. How could it, lacking

lungs and a mouth? Yet to one who knew castle speech, the groaning of

aged door sills or a whistling draft down a hallway would have

expressed thoughts as clearly and purposefully as the words of human

language. Condensation formed on all the interior walls of the palace

as the House struggled for understanding, reaching for the memories

stored within its drapes and dungeons scenes that had been registered

within it somehow, even when it had slept through the years.

The dragon was dead that much was obvious. For untold centuries, the

accursed Vicia-Heinox had been discussed and cursed within these halls.

The dragon had straddled the Central Pass of the One Land, obstructing

traffic and making a general nuisance of himself. Such a nuisance, in

fact, that the One Land had been broken into three warring states, and

the Central Pass had come to be called Dragonsgate.

The dragon had devoured humans voraciously in those days long ago. The

House cared little about the consunuVation of persons, of course. With

a few exceptions, one human was much like another, and it took real

concentration to tell them apart. But the castle had been bothered

considerably by the beast's utter lack of concern for structures. Some

fine old manors had perished in the dragon's fires, in that first great

period of burning. Indeed, some of the castle's own towers had been

scorched by

Towers! the House exclaimed, and it quickly surveyed its own present

condition.

Amazing, murmured a window sash, as the castle noted a thousand years

of home improvements. New spires jetted up from repaved courtyards.

Reinforced parapets, gleaming in the sun from a recent whitewashing,

gazed grimly down on the city that sprawled below. Gaily colored

pennants fluttered in the breeze, at once festive and belligerent,

throwing a bright challenge to anyone foolish enough to attempt to

scale these heights. It was a stirring sight, to say the least, and

the House wheezed with pleasure .. . A cold draft blew through the

upper dungeon, chilling its inmates and puzzling the guards.

But of all the additions, by far the loveliest was a series of terraced

gardens that climbed from deep within the castle's heart to the very

roof itself. Fountains and walkways graced this artful wonder, and so

glorious was the greenery it would have stolen the castle's breath away

had the castle any breath to steal.

How odd, to grow so grand while sleeping!

The Imperial House took pride in its renewed appearance. Evidently it

still stood tall among structures. Yet all was not as it should be.

While its old walls and towers functioned just as they always had, as

the castle's organs of touch and smell, sight and hearing, the new

sections seemed devoid of life. There was no vision of the countryside

from the new spires. The new pavements heard no conversation. Was it

the House's imagination, or did these new constructions tingle, as if

still asleep?

Awake! the Imperial House ordered the new sections gruffly, and it

sweated some more as it sought to force consciousness into these

remodeled areas .. ,

"Kherda!" Queen Ligne shrilled at her Prime Minister. "p.o you see

this?" She glided delicate, bejewelled fingers across a marble-tiled

wait grown suddenly, inexplicably wet. "Just what is causing this?"

She demanded as she rubbed her moist fingertips together in his face.

"I have no idea, my Queen," Kherda replied quietly, annoyed by her

accusing tone. This wasn't unusual. Ligne's tone of voice regularly

annoyed him and seemed to grow more annoying with every passing day.

But just as regularly, Kherda swallowed his pique and smiled. Kherda

was quite creative at inventing new ways to grovel. "Perhaps, my Lady,

it's the weather?"

The House heard the conversation, and felt her caressing fingers, even

as it registered a hundred other comments from a hundred other rooms.

It focused its attention here, however, on this black-maned beauty and

her parasitic Prime Minister. This was by force of ancient habit,

really. Centuries of watching human behavior had taught the House

that, in the minds of humans at least, the most critical conversations

took place in the courts of Kings. That wasn't so, as the castle knew

very well, having listened to years of sloppy drivel coming from this

very throne room. It was often much more fun to hear what the

messengers and consorts said outside the regent's hearing. Even so, it

was a relief to find that the throne room had not been greatly

altered.

The foundations are the same, the House sighed, reassured. Still as

firm, as impenetrable as the rock from which they had been carved.

Indeed, while cosmetic changes had been made, the basic ffoorplan of

the massive palace would still have been recognizable to Nobalog.

Nobalog! The Imperial House winced, and a dolorous booming issued from

the cistern beneath the kitchen, as the castle mourned the passing of

its friend. More than a friend, really, for it had been the

oowershaper Nobalog "the fat, bald one" who had birthed consciousness

in the castle so many years before.

How many? the Imperial House wondered. How long had it been?

Not that it mattered, particularly, with Nobalog dead. While there had

been many in that ancient age who sported with the castle, debating

with it about current events or telling it meaningless human jokes,

only Nobalog ever took the time to understand. More than that, of all

the power shapers who had walked its corridors, only Nobalog had been

sensitive to the damaging effects of magic upon the House. Nobalog had

been a friend.

But Nobalog was long dead. That was the problem with humans.

Eventually, they all died. Nobalog had been gone a thousand years by

the time the dragon came, and put the castle to sleep.

The House listened again with some attention to the words of Queen

Ligne, for her sharp voice had jogged its memory. It had heard her

before!

There have been dreams, the House said quietly, dreams that were not

dreams at all, but rather stages of awakening. This is why some things

are known.

Seeking to learn more, the House followed the woman's march down the

hallway and onto the grand spiral. This was a gigantic curving

staircase that formed the hub of all castle activities. Had she passed

down the spiral, it would have taken her onto the dais of the vast

great hall, where all of those within the walls took their meals. The

House noted with some concern that the upper end of the spiral now

opened onto the lowest garden terrace. Though beautiful, this new area

was outside the castle's range of hearing. Ligne did not climb that

high, however, turning off instead to stamp toward the royal

apartments. She was bellowing orders even before she reached her

attiring room, so that, by the time she slung open the door, a dozen

attendants were already waiting to change her.

The House watched attentively as the army of maids stripped the queen

bare. The castle's standards of beauty had all been drawn from the

comments of men, and it was fully aware that many within the walls

would have longed to watch this operation. To the House, however, the

woman's shapely form was no more nor less entrancing than any of the

other objects of art that lined its corridors or stood in its

courtyards. While her imperious manner indicated that she truly

believed herself the owner of this palace, the House knew better. Long

after she passed from the scene, the House would continue to stand.

Rather, the castle believed that it owned her, and was mildly pleased

that the present regent was so comely in appearance.

And yet .. . was there not some question regarding her sovereignty?

The castle sweated to remember .. . There was a scene, perhaps months

before, recorded in its semiconscious state .. .

*"I look a mess!" Ligne muttered, but the vision in the mirror belied

her words.

"You look positively regal, my Lady," Kherda gushed. The old feelings

welled up in his heart again, those adolescent palpitations that had

caused him to betray Talith, his rightful King, and lay the plot to

elevate this woman to the throne. "It's little wonder King Talith

chose you for his paramour!"

"Don't talk about Talith," Ligne mumbled. "I just ate dinner."

"But it's true, my Lady! Your beauty so ensnared him *'

Turn it off, Kherda." The Queen scooped up her velvet skirts and paced

toward the doorway. "You're sure Joss is coming?"

"It has all been arranged, my Queen," Kherda reassured her. "General

Joss has accepted the terms of the agreement, and has promised to

appear today, bringing the girl with him. Ah, there is one detail that

I must "

"But what guarantees do I have? The man has hated me from the first

moment."

"He doesn't hate you "

Ligne arched an eyebrow and shot Kherda a poisonous look.

"I mean, it may have looked as if he hated you," Kherda hurriedly

clarified, "but you have to understand Joss. He's consumed with

loyalty to the throne of Chaomonous, and he somehow sensed that you

were a threat to his King. You must admit, he had cause to be

suspicious "

"So now he's going to turn his back on those old loyalties and

surrender Talith's rightful heir to me?" Ligne accentuated her sarcasm

by propping a hand on her jutting hip.

Kherda controlled his impatience, and though he had explained this all

a dozen times before even managed a smile as he explained it once

again: "Talith is dead, my Lady. There's nothing left for Joss to be

loyal to. Why should he continue to support the House of Talith when

the

King played such a critical role in his own downfall? After all, the

King relieved Joss of his command the day before the battle rather

shabby treatment, in view of the General's loyalty. And you've

certainly done nothing to injure Joss, apart from sent ding a couple of

raiding parties after him "

"Which he destroyed," Ligne muttered.

"He is a shrewd tactician, to be sure." Kherda nodded. "There's

little love between us, as you well know, and I judge it no blessing to

have the man within the walls again. On the other hand, it's far

better to have the General's talents with us than against us, and his

great loyalty to the nation and the throne has convinced him that there

would be no profit in a protracted civil war "

Yes, yes, so you've said. So where is he, then?"

"It isn't the appointed hour quite yet, and it's a long ride from "

Kherda was interrupted by a series of trumpet blasts issuing from the

gate of the Imperial House. He turned to Ligne with a self-satisfied

smile. "You see? He's even early!"

"How very like Joss," Ligne mumbled .. .

The castle's memory of the dream faltered then, as if at that point in

the conversation the House had lapsed back from semiconsciousness into

a comatose state. Spurred on by an intense curiosity, the House

pursued these fleeting wisps of thought. The thread of the dream

picked up again .. .

They stood in the Hall of Peace: Ligne, Kherda, General Joss and the

Princess Bronwynn, Ligne made no secret of her elation. She trilled

with laughter each time she spoke, "You can't imagine how delighted I

am to see you again, Bronwynn," she sang. "I simply can't tell you how

it pleases me!"

Bronwynn, daughter of Talith and true heir to the throne of Chaomonous,

said nothing. Instead, she turned her startlingly blue eyes in a

searing gaze on the General who had promised her a crown and betrayed

her.

General Joss avoided her eyes. It wasn't that he felt guilty. He was

doing the only sensible thing. The rights of one beautiful young woman

could hardly take precedence over the right of an entire nation to

peace regardless of the royalty of her blood. Nor was he particularly

bothered by her opinion of him. Joss had grown quite accustomed to

hatred. But he had never been one to enjoy giving the coup de grace to

a fallen enemy, as had some of his peers. He took no pleasure in this

betrayal. And despite the girl's bedraggled hah and tear-stained

cheeks, her accusing eyes were far too reminiscent of her father's to

permit Joss to meet her stare. Instead, he turned his attention to

Kherda. "You've informed the Queen of my condition?"

"What condition?" Ligne snapped, jerking around to look at her Prime

Minister, who unconsciously stepped back under the impact.

"Ah, actually, the occasion never did arise to "

"My Lady," Joss cut him off, "I made it clear to Kherda in our

negotiations that the girl was not to be killed "

"Not to be killed!" Ligne screeched, laughing no longer. "What kind

of nonsense is this?"

"Kherda!" Joss roared savagely.

"It's true," the Prime Minister squealed, backing well out of the range

of a possible swipe from Ligne's feline claws. He raced on: "It was a

necessary concession to insure a successful result of the talks "

"Not to be killed!" Ligne repeated, stalking Kherda's retreat and

picking up speed to match his.

"I tell you it was necessary," the Prime Minister wailed, turning tail

to scamper around behind the frowning General. Joss stepped in front

of the enraged woman to block her pursuit.

"It is necessary," he said firmly, and Ligne turned her wrath on him

instead.

"You .. . betray me!" she roared.

"You too?" Bronwynn piped up bitterly. "Perhaps we should start a

club .. ."

"Ligne, h'sten to reason," Joss barked, and the authority in his harsh

voice caught the Queen's attention. "You've nothing to gain by killing

this girl, and much to lose. Her murder could only provoke more

outrage from the populace and a possible insurrection. Place her under

protective custody and let it be published that she's been deemed

mentally unfit to rule. Do so ... and I'll offer the full weight of my

influence to back your claim."

"That girl is the only threat to my crown!" Ligne screamed.

"No!" Joss shouted back. "You are!"

The woman stared at him, shaken by his temerity. When she spoke again,

she was calmer. "Just what do you mean?"

"It isn't seemly for a Queen to be so governed by her emotions," Joss

answered evenly. "Perhaps if you would think this through, you'd see

my point."

"Go on."

"Entrust the girl to me. You may find eventually she'll endorse your

claim herself."

"That won't happen, Joss," Bronwynn said quickly. "I told you this

morning the throne is mine."

"Why such a change?" Ligne asked the General, ignoring the girl's

comment. "You've always been so loyal. Tell me why you would make

such a radical switch?"

Her tone was suddenly almost cordial, the General observed. That was a

promising sign. "Evidently you can control your emotions " he began.

"Of course I can," JJgne snapped. "Answer my question."

"I didn't have the strength to defeat you," the General admitted. "My

army was hungry, the snow was cold, and victory was a hopeless

fantasy."

"We could have won!" Bronwynn said heatedly. "If you'd contacted

Pelmen as I told you to, we could have had the whole army of Lamath "

"To ravage the countryside of Chaomonous?" Joss finished for her. "No,

thank you," he snarled, and he turned back to Ligne. "I prefer

Chaomonous to be ruled by Chaons, not fanatical Lamathians in long blue

robes. You understand, don't you, my Lady?"

Ligne smiled smugly. "General, I understand perfectly. And your

sensible explanation has brought a welcome focus to all of this.

Kherda, you could take a lesson from the General."

The blood drained from the Prime Minister's face, then returned in a

crimson flood. He would have spoken, but no words could express his

humiliation and fury.

The Wizard in Wailing 9

"General" the queen continued, "I extend to you once again the full

command of the Golden Throng. Do with the girl what you choose," Ligne

dismissed Bronwynn with a flick of her hand.

, Joss recognized this as a bold gambit to assert her dominance in

their relationship. Ordinarily he would have responded with equal

coldness. But there was something about this woman, something

compelling about the combination of her physical charms and her steel

ambition, that caused him uncharacteristically to gulp. Ligne saw it

and, before he could summon any reply, she spun on her heel and was

gone. . The House now remembered several other events of that same

day, but they were matters of little importance. At the moment it was

much more interested in discovering what had transpired in the weeks or

months since that vision. Its curiosity had been thoroughly aroused.

It took only a moment to spot the Princess. While kings asd emperors

might redecorate their own apartments with regularity, few ever

troubled to remodel their dungeons. The House found Bronwynn sitting

at the bottom of the Pit.

Though she sat in a darkness so total that she couldn't even see her

own hands before her face, Bronwynn's knot-ted hair and the scrap of

rag that passed for her dress could be clearly perceived by the House.

The lack of light was unimportant, for the castle's sense of sight was

no more Hfce men's vision than its language was like men's speech. lit

was by a subtle and totally unconscious shaping of ^magical power. That

same form of shaping allowed it to jbear the rustling as Bronwynn pawed

blindly through heaps of straw in search of a lost morsel of bread. "I

know |P here someplace," the girl mumbled as she dug. She had hopped

it hours ago-^or maybe days who could tell in timeless hole? and had

been searching for it ever r psraktence was fueled by her hunger and by

fact that she had nothing else to do.

House felt no pity for her. Though it had witnessed before, it had

experienced neither any need for it nor inclination toward it in its

centuries of consciousness. humans imprisoned other humans within

walls of stone had been among the first things the castle ever

comprehended. The House saw little reason in the anger and frustration

persons felt toward their imprisonment, however. It was, after all, a

prisoner itself of sorts, and quite at peace with its immobility. One

thing it did relate to, however, was the isolation that captives

experienced. This Princess Bronwynn was doubtless lonely, and the

castle decided to approach her.

The object you seek is to your left and behind you, said the House.

Bronwynn jerked backward, landing prone in a pile of straw, staring up

toward the grating that was the only entrance into the hole. The House

chuckled, stirring the stale air with an incongrous draft.

Now it is by your left foot.

"Is there someone there?" Bronwynn called. The raspiness of her own

voice startled her momentarily; she had screamed herself hoarse during

the first week of her captivity, and the constant chill of this dank

place had added a persistent cold to her list of torments. But more

startling by far was the sense that there was something present in the

cell with her something nonhuman.

It is the House who speaks.

Bronwynn peered into the darkness, looking first one direction, then

another. She succeeded only in making herself dizzy. "Who's there?"

she whispered, fighting off the sense of vertigo.

It is the House, the House said a bit peevishly.

Bronwynn could make no sense of the odd stirrings in the straw around

her or the rapid changes of temperature in her cell. She only knew

that some power or force had manifested itself toward her; she made the

only assumption that seemed logical. "Are you the Power that Pelmen

told me about?"

The Power? the House asked. Such an idea was confusing.

"If you are and I pray you are I only ask that you let him know where I

am and send him to rescue me."

Now the Imperial House had heard many pleas for rescue in its ages of

existence some even from tboss of royal blood. But all of these had

been addressed to itself not to some Power. Such a request made no

sense.

_Must it be stated again? It is the House who addresses jpu. What do

you mean by a Power?

"I began to wonder if you even existed. Haven't you heard me calling

out for you all these weeks?" The Princess sounded cross, which made

the conversation that much more perplexing. It was as if she didn't

understand a word the castle said.

"Are you not listening? Or do the shapers no longer teach castle

speech to the royal children?

*% I know .. ." Bronwynn began, then she faltered, suddenly

self-conscious about talking to nothing. She listened for a moment to

the dark, then murmured: "Am I going insane, the way they want me to

think? No!" she answered herself firmly, and she began again. "Of

course, I know you haven't been active in Chaomonous in ages, but

Pelmen always said he thought that was because of the dragon, and that

the more people in this land learned of you, the more apparent your

presence would become .. ."

i What are you talking about? Who is this Pelmen?

Bronwynn groped her way to her feet, stumbling against a wall in the

process. It was wet with sweat. Odd, she thought, not realizing that

her own inability to communicate had caused the wall's condition.

**! it is you, I'm begging you take care of Pelmen. And take care of

Rosha, too .. ."

Hie House hastily withdrew from the conversation, thor-oughiy

bewildered by the strangeness of her notions. Bron-srynn heard no

more. She slumped against the moist wall and sighed. Her sensitivity,

which had once caused Pelmen io suggest she might shape the powers some

day, told her tfaat the moment had passed.

' .; "Or is my mind slipping .. ." she asked quietly. No aw

answered.

"House was experiencing some of those same feel-It had slept too long.

It needed someone to fill in the y sizable gaps in its understanding.

Quickly, the located the Queen. Evening had painted the sky le, then

black, and though the wind was chilly, Ligne strolled atop the

parapets.

explanation is required, the House demanded. didn't even pause. She

pulled her fur-lined cloak

The WizartJ In Waiting tightly around her shoulders, and gazed

downriver toward the sea. The full moon had peeked above the eastern

horizon, washing the countryside with pale light. The afternoon's

vexations were long forgotten now. As the wind destroyed her careful

coiffure, her eyes dropped slightly to study the farthest reaches of

her vast city, where distant torches tiny pinpoints of brilliance

seemed to reflect the starry sky back at itself. Her thoughts were far

away .. .

Is there no courtesy anymore? Where are your manners? the castle

snapped.

Ligne made no response. She was busy weighing the qualities of her

various Jovers, clinically analyzing their strengths and weaknesses.

Her present prospects all bored her. She wished for some new diversion

to break up the sameness of castle routine .. .

Or has the world gone mad?

The House began to panic. Why would no one respond?

The castle had repressed the thought long enough. Now it sprang to

full, horrifying consciousness. The logical next step was to turn to

the present castle power shaper for counsel. The problem was, the

power shaper quarters were missing. The apartments occupied by Nobalog

and the other shapers of old had been replaced by the terraced

gardens.

With brutal impact, a new set of memories returned memories of the

shocking years just prior to the coming of the dragon. Wars abounded.

The One Land, united for ages, took only a moment to splinter apart.

Shapers dueled for no purpose save their own pride, urged on by Kings

and would-be Kings, and others who wished for no Kings at all. Scholars

who disavowed shaping asserted the primacy of a world view based only

on logic and in this region, they had prevailed. For one brief moment,

the House relived those horrible days. It heard again the clamor of

arms in its hallways, felt again the inexpressible agony wrought when

shapers wrenched from its life force wonders sometimes splendid,

sometimes terrifying, but always excruciatingly painful. Then the

memories passed .. .

Ligne still stood upon the battlements, gazing out at the night.

Bronwynn still rooted through the straw for a crust of bread. And the

castle was alone.

Are there no more shapers? it asked the entire population that lived

within its walls. Though a few hesitated in their tasks with puzzled

expressions, the vast majority of the citizens of this city within a

city simply ignored the castle's question. No one deigned to answer.

The castle's temper flared to rage.

These questions shall be answered! it roared, and for the remainder of

the night, the palace servants waged war with stopped-up plumbing,

curious drafts, and pictures that seemed to leap from the walls.

This House, said the Imperial House of Chaomonous, not be ignored.

So completely did the House turn in upon itself that it missed what

might have been a welcome visitation. For outside, at the very foot of

one of its massive battlements, stood a lone figure draped in dark

garments. And at various times, in various places, the man had proved

Robert Don Hughes - Pelmen 2 - The Wizard in Waiting

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