Robert Don Hughes - Pelman 03 - The Power and the Prophet

The Power and the Prophet

ROBERT DON HUGHES

PROLOGUE

ThePower's Gateway

They were mined from the finest veins in the Mar—six huge diamonds, each the size of a giant's skull. A

company of war-riors, sworn to secrecy, bore them by horseback around the treacherous southwestern

route. They wouldn't dare enter Dragonsgate with diamonds of this size, for Vicia-Heinox would claim

them for himself. These stones were destined to be the dragon's bane, and that would end the conspiracy

at its begin-ning.

The Man warriors bore them to the scholars of the south, surrendering their treasures in the heartland of

their hated foes. All men were allies now, for there was dragonburn on the land. In the hallways of the

craftsmen, under the learned eyes of the wise, each diamond felt the chisel. Six three-sided pyramids

were carefully cut—six slivers of crystal, each tapering grace-fully to a point, each calibrated to fit

precisely with every other. Then the wise men summoned the powershaper to meld by his magic the six

sharp shards into a single diamond thorn.

There was a human failing. The cost proved too high. Un-willing to pay that price, the sorcerer

improvised. He attacked the dragon alone, wielding the sparkling weapon in his bare hands. The

battle—visible from distant mountaintops—left the shaper destroyed and the crystal object shattered

once again into six three-sided pyramids. They all were lost for a millen-nium.

Now, a thousand years later, three had been rediscovered.

CHAPTER ONE

Pilgrims Through the Pass

An autumn wind stirred the grasslands of the Westmouth Plain, billowing Pelmen's robe out before him.

He walked briskly toward the east, his head up, his eyes fixed on the jagged peaks of Dragonsgate. He

could have flown. He was, after all, a powershaper; in his altershape, he took on the form of a falcon.

Yet Pelmen was tired of flying. He'd done little else for days. And he was certain the one he sought

would be on foot—if she was free to travel at all. Once again, Pelmen searched for Serphimera.

Something caught his eye. On the road above him, up in the foothills of the ancient pass, he saw a flash

of powder blue. He knew instantly what it was, and it amazed him. "A sky-faither? Here?" he murmured

and he speeded his already quick pace. His gown was of the same brilliant color, but he'd never before

seen another like it here in this ancient land of warfare and wizardry. It wasn't his wandering lady—she

still wore the midnight blue of the old Dragonfaith. But it was someone who shared his belief, and, by the

Power, Pelmen wanted to know who.

By the Power! So much of what Pelmen had done in the past few years had been by the Power. Time

and again he'd been summoned to lay down his personal concerns and take up cosmic responsibilities.

Was Serphimera's disappearance a prelude to yet another such adventure? He could hardly tolerate the

thought. Yet if Serphimera's prophecies were true—and she'd never been proved wrong yet—a new

burden was even now being placed on Pelmen's shoulders. Because of who and what he was, Pelmen

Dragonsbane could do nothing other than bear it.

He could see the figure above him clearly now, and his curiosity grew. The man clothed in skyfaither

blue slowly an-gled off the road toward the north. Pelmen glanced that way and frowned. There was a

path there, but it led only to a blind canyon. Was this skyfaither camped there? When Pelmen's gaze

flicked back to the blue-clad figure his frown deepened with concern; the man tripped and fell.

He didn't throw out his arms to cushion his fall. Instead, he clutched them to his chest, as if he shielded

something within his robes that was above value and that must be protected at all personal cost. Pelmen

would have raced up to help him then, but there was a shout from the canyon above. Almost without

thought Pelmen drew a shield of invisibility around himself, a spell shapers referred to as "the cloak." He

disap-peared.

There were boys among the rocks, playing at being men. They shouted back and forth, proving

themselves upon one another—a harsh process that could make the mildest of lads brutal for an

afternoon. Suddenly the noise died as they spotted the blue figure climbing toward them. They took his

presence as some kind of challenge. "Halt!" one of the larger boys commanded. When the bluefaither

kept on coming, a ring of lads quickly closed around him. Pelmen felt the threat of violence charge the

atmosphere and he drew near to help. He soon realized he didn't need to bother; as one boy whirled the

skyfaither around and drew back a fist to strike, the man opened his eyes. There were no pupils there, no

irises, no whites. There were only two blank balls of powder blue. The boys all saw it together, and it

sent them shrieking past the invisible Pelmen and down the mountainside. The man threw back his head

and laughed. As the echoes bounced eerily off the canyon walls, Pelmen remembered. He thought he

knew who this might be. He shed his magical cloak of invisibility and spoke.

"You dealt with them easily enough. I shouldn't have wor-ried."

Tahli-Damen grunted in shock and whirled toward Pelmen's voice. "Who are you?" the blind man

demanded.

"A friend."

"All my friends have names," Tahli-Damen growled, his forehead wrinkling in suspicion.

"Where are you going?"

"What's that to you?"

"I'd like to help you."

"Then name yourself!" Tahli-Damen snapped.

Pelmen didn't want to do that just yet. If this man was the one he thought, then Pelmen bore some

responsibility for those hideous powder blue eyes. "That isn't important."

"It is to me!" Tahli-Damen snarled. "Did Wayleeth send you? Well, I'll not go back! You can go tell her

to forget about me! I'm never going back there again!" Tahli-Damen crossed his arms protectively across

his chest. He was obviously con-cealing something within his robes. In his blindness, he was unaware of

how strongly that gesture directed Pelmen's atten-tion to the very object the man was trying to hide.

Pelmen knew at once what it was. "Don't try to block my path!" Tahli-Damen shouted and he started

backing away.

"I won't," Pelmen responded quietly. "But the mountain will."

"What mountain?"

"The one you're walking into."

Tahli-Damen set his jaw. "I'm climbing into Dragonsgate."

"I'd guessed that. Tell me. Have you encountered any pass-ing traffic?"

"There's been no traffic through the pass for a fortnight," Tahli-Damen grunted.

This news surprised Pelmen. It also caused him concern. Since he'd killed the great two-headed dragon,

Vicia-Heinox, the pass had been blocked only once—by the villainous Admon Faye and a company of

slavers. Did cutthroats once again control Dragonsgate? He glanced back at Tahli-Damen's sus-picious

frown and thought of another argument to convince the man they weren't yet in the pass. "Tell me this.

Have you ever known lads—even the bravest or most foolhardy of Man boys— to stray so deeply into a

pass frequented by slavers?"

Tahli-Damen dropped his head and thought on that for a moment. "No," he grumbled sourly.

"I'm on my way through Dragonsgate myself, and your news startles me. Perhaps we can be of mutual

assistance."

"Mutual assistance!" Tahli-Damen snorted derisively. "I can't even take the right pathway!"

"I disagree," said Pelmen quietly. "The color of your robe tells me otherwise."

Shock registered on Tahli-Damen's face, and he leaned for-ward, as if to peer through his personal fog.

"You know the significance of this color?"

"I'm gowned as you are. But tell me, how did you learn what it means? Are you from Lamath?"

Tahli-Damen sighed.. "I've spent time in Lamath. I've lived in all three lands. I used to be a merchant,

back in the days of the dragon—a trading captain. I saw this robe occasionally there. Not very often."

"We were few then," Pelmen muttered.

"And," Tahli-Damen continued, "1 learned a little about the Power. Didn't believe it then, of course."

"But now you do?" Pelmen said, asking by his inflection why the change had come.

"I got in trouble with some wizards. It cost me my sight. That plunged me into depression.

Wayleeth—that's my wife— did all she could to make me feel better, but nothing could penetrate this

blue fog that surrounds me. Then I had the strang-est experience. I felt that something wonderful and

powerful was suddenly coming through me, as if I was—" Tahli-Damen broke off, and he turned his head

in the direction of Pelmen's voice. "Are you sure Wayleeth didn't send you?" he demanded. His harshness

had returned.

"I don't even know your wife," Pelmen responded. "But it sounds as if she cares for you very much."

"Too much," Tahli-Damen grunted. "She thinks too much of me. That's partly why I'm leaving. She'll be

better off without me."

"What's the other reason?" Pelmen asked.

Tahli-Damen shrank back from him, clutching his arms across his chest once again. "Who are you?" he

demanded. "Are you from Flayh?"

Pelmen's eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. That name bore bitter memories. "No," he growled. "I'm

not from Flayh." He relaxed then and went on more calmly. "If I'm from anyone, you may believe I'm

from the Power. I think it's possible that I'm here to help you by the Power's design."

Tahli-Damen's uncertain frown twisted his features as he barked, "But how can I be sure?"

Pelmen had faced that question himself many times. He had an answer ready. "You can't. But then you

can't be sure there's

any value in that robe you wear. You still wear it. That's why they call us 'faithers.'"

"You expect me just to trust you?" Tahli-Damen asked.

Pelmen thought a moment, then simply said, "Yes."

Apparently his conviction and sincerity were persuasive. After a brief pause, Tahli-Damen said, "Very

well then. Where's Dragonsgate?"

Pelmen took his arm and guided him back down the steep incline. Few words passed between them.

Tahli-Damen fo-cused his attention on not stumbling. Pelmen pondered the irony of this situation. He had

interrupted his quest for the woman who had deserted him in order to help this blind man desert a loving

wife. At least, he guessed Serphimera had deserted him. Wrenching as it was, he could tolerate that

explanation better than the other possibilities that had plagued his waking hours.

Pelmen and Serphimera had spent an idyllic summer. They'd explored the dirt roads of Chaomonous,

lodging with peasants in pleasant cottages or resting beside quiet pools of crystal-clear water, engaged in

a single, endless conversation. She'd told him her whole history—her girlhood, her growing fas-cination

with the dragon cult, those first frightening moments when she'd sensed a responsibility being laid upon

her, and the day she'd felt a new kind of power surge through her soul. Naturally she'd attributed it to the

dragon, and that had inten-sified her devotion. Pelmen had listened sympathetically, his eyes gentle with

understanding love. And he in turn had dis-closed more secrets than he'd ever revealed to anyone else.

She knew him better now than did the prophet Erri, better than his acting companion Yona

Parmi—better even than did Dor-lyth. She'd listened in rapt attention, laughing in the appropriate places,

weeping a time or two. The bond of physical attraction forged between them by competition had been

tempered by this intimacy into love. At last they'd declared it to one another.

But one barrier had remained. "We're not finished yet," she had constantly reminded him. "Neither of us.

I've seen it."

Pelmen knew it was true. Throughout the summer he'd acknowledged to himself that he would have to

confront the wizard Flayh. Even so, he'd seen no reason why that should separate them.

She'd left him resting beneath an oak at the edge of the Great South Fir, saying she was going to hunt

berries. He'd

waked hours later to find the daylight departed and Serphimera still gone. He'd started his search calmly;

but as the long hours of evening passed into dark night and on toward dawn, he'd lost control of himself

and grown frantic. He'd taken his falcon form and, for the next three days, had swept back and forth

over the dense forest on the wing, punctuating each long turn with a sharp, fierce cry of frustration.

Despite his enhanced vision and the advantage of flight, Pelmen never found a trace of her. It was as if

she'd vanished—and no one could disappear except through the intervention of a powershaper!

These thoughts led him back again to the dark door of Flayh. What could the man do now? Clearly

Flayh's powers exceeded those of all the shapers Pelmen had ever known. What were the man's limits?

Had Flayh even found them himself? Was Flayh somehow responsible for this new blockade of

Dra-gonsgate? As they headed up into the pass Pelmen probed his companion for more information.

"You said there's been no traffic through here for several weeks. Have you heard any rumors to explain

it?"

"Only rumors. The men of the House of Uda pride them-selves on being cautious. They prefer that

fiction to admitting their own cowardice."

"Yet you show little cowardice yourself, braving the leg-endary Dragonsgate alone and without sight."

"What do I have to fear?" Tahli-Damen murmured bitterly. "My House thinks I'm crazy. I've lost all

honor there. My wife treats me as an invalid, smothering me with affection. I've lost my sight, so I judge

myself poor material for slavers. You have more to fear from them than I."

"Perhaps," Pelmen acknowledged, the deadly tone in his voice making clear his opinion of slavers. "Yet I

wonder if it's those whom we'll encounter. Cutthroats have blocked the pass before, but they never cut

traffic off entirely. They make more money by controlling passage than they could by stopping it. Evil as

they are, I'm expecting to meet something more omi-nous than slavers."

"But what could be more—"

As if in answer to that unfinished question, they heard above them the double-throated roar that had

chilled men's blood for centuries. It echoed off the canyon walls. It thundered down upon them as

palpablv as an avalanche Tahli-Daman's

about his total lack of fear melted away, and he crumbled to his knees in terror. He'd been a trading

captain. He knew that angry scream. Vicia-Heinox, the two-headed dragon, hovered in the air above

them.

The scream stiffened the hairs on the back of Pelmen's neck and knotted his body with tension, but he

didn't cower away. He turned his eyes up to stare at the monstrous beast and said, "Who would have

guessed it? The dragon."

"But Vicia-Heinox is dead!" Tahli-Damen wailed.

"Yes," Pelmen muttered. "The dragon is dead."

Vast jaws opened as one head shrieked in fury, "Who is this who dares trespass my domain?"

"Speak!" the other head demanded. "I asked you a ques-tion!"

"And I shall have an answer!" finished the first.

Pelmen propped his hands on his hips. "Why is it so im-portant that you know our names?"

"What?" one head thundered.

"You dare to answer me with impertinence?" the other roared.

"Please don't anger it!" Tahli-Damen begged. "I know this dragon! We'll be eaten!"

"I very much doubt that," Pelmen muttered. "Stay close to me," he told Tahli-Damen, but his words were

drowned by the dragon's bellow.

"1 always learn the names of those I swallow! It adds pi-quancy to the flavor!"

The other head seemed suddenly puzzled, perhaps even annoyed. "Pardon," it mumbled, "but 1 think I

recall that I am to swallow the next morsel!"

"But of course I am!" the first head snapped. "1 always get the next morsel!"

"Why are you haunting this pass?" Pelmen shouted. "Be-gone!" He noticed then that the blind bluefaither

was crawling away on his hands and knees.

"Haunting the pass?" one head sniffed.

"Begone?" the other snarled.

"1 live here!" the first trumpeted.

"You don't live anywhere. You don't live at all. You're dead, Vicia-Heinox, and I want you to stop

pretending oth-erwise!"

"I am dead?' the two heads chorused in unison.

In that moment something happened to Pelmen that both frightened and elated him. He was seized from

within by that which he knew as the Power. All shaper abilities drained from him, replaced by that

incredible sense of being shaped. Guided from without, he reached down to grab Tahli-Damen by the

collar and hoisted him to his feet while calling aloud, "Yes! You're dead!" Quickly he bent to whisper in

Tahli-Damen's ear. "Stand up, spread your legs and throw your arms out wide. When I say fall, fall

backward."

"That's the most ridiculous statement I've ever heard!" the head named Vicia howled.

"And I've heard all the ridiculous notions of a thousand years of men!" Heinox added noisily.

"Nevertheless, it's true. You were divided by Pelmen the player, and slain by Pelmen Dragonsbane!"

"Pelmen!" both heads screamed with deadly malice and they struck.

"Fall," Pelmen ordered, but he needn't have, since Tahli-Damen was already falling backward in a dead

faint. There was a sudden rush of wind off the plain behind them, and the two bluefaithers were suddenly

sky-born.

"Pelmen!" the heads howled again, this time from a hundred feet below them. But the dragon didn't give

chase. Pelmen thought he knew why.

"Wake up. We need to be moving."

Tahli-Damen opened his eyes to face the eternal blue fog. He had no idea where he was, the time of

day, or who was speaking. He could feel a brisk breeze on his face, but that told him little. His sense of

smell was dominated by the aroma of meat roasting over a fire. A warm, dripping chunk of it was thrust

into his hand, and he brought it to his mouth without a thought. He was hungry, and it smelled delicious.

The taste did not disappoint him. He swallowed with a gulp and grunted, "Where are we?" His mind had

cleared enough to remember the stranger and his assistance through Dragonsgate. Suddenly the memory

of that shocking encounter in the pass flooded his thoughts, and he trembled as the man answered his

question.

"We're several miles within Lamath, at the edge of the Tellera Desert."

"The dragon! What about the dragon!" Tahli-Damen shouted.

"What dragon?" the other man replied calmly.

"Vicia-Heinox! If it spots us from the sky—"

"The dragon is dead."

"But—but we talked to it!"

"We talked to something. Or someone. But I have it on good authority that the particular beast you

mention is very dead. There are more important things to worry about than being spotted by a dead

dragon."

"How did we get past it?" Tahli-Damen quailed. His terror didn't prevent him from gobbling the chunk of

meat. As soon as the last of it disappeared into his mouth, another slab was shoved into his hand.

"Do you believe in miracles?" the relaxed stranger asked him.

"I... guess I could," Tahli-Damen admitted.

"Then that settles it. There's plenty of that meat here for you. Eat all you can—we've got a long walk

ahead of us."

"The desert," Tahli-Damen mumbled as he chewed.

"A seven-day walk, at least. Or seven nights. Even in au-tumn 1 prefer to take the desert when the sun's

gone elsewhere."

Tahli-Damen nodded grimly and swallowed. Crossing the desert had loomed as a far greater obstacle

than had Dragons-gate. But then, he hadn't been expecting a dragon.

"Of course, we could make it in two and a half days on horseback."

Tahli-Damen was shocked. "A bluefaither? Riding?"

"I don't recall the prophet forbidding it," his companion said breezily.

"I've.. .just never thought of that before," Tahli-Damen admitted.

The stranger laughed. "Then think of it, by all means!"

"But where can we—"

"You mentioned your House and your cautious kin. I know you say you've lost honor there, but surely

not so much that they would deny you a pair of ponies. Your Lamathian way-castle isn't far—why not go

ask?"

The idea made splendid sense. Tahli-Damen didn't really want to walk across the desert. "Lead me to

it."

They found the castle within the hour, and Tahli-Damen walked inside the gates alone. His relatives

suggested that he at least stay the night, then tried to constrain him when he

refused, but at last they let him go, along with a couple of horses. In fact, they were relieved when he

left. His blindness made them uncomfortable. After all, he'd lost his sight by meddling with sorcerers, and

merchants took a dim view of that sort of thing. Besides, he was crazy. His ridiculous blue garment

proved it.

"Ah," the stranger greeted him pleasantly as he led the horses out the gate. "I told you we could be of

some mutual benefit."

"I hardly see why you need a horse," Tahli-Damen said, a bit suspiciously. "Why not just ride the wind?"

"You know, that's the trouble with miracles. They're great when they happen, but you just can't depend

on them." He helped Tahli-Damen climb astride his steed.

The blind merchant grunted. "I had thought it more magic than miracle."

"You take me for a powershaper?"

"I don't know what to take you for—except a friend. You've proved yourself to be that. But should you

be a powershaper, I'd rather not travel with you. My experiences with shapers have not been good."

"I see," the other man said as he climbed onto his horse.

"I don't," Tahli-Damen said pointedly, "and powershapers are the reason. That one you mentioned,

Pelmen, for all his heroics, has proved himself nothing but a menace!"

"You'd be surprised how many times I've heard those very words," the other man muttered as he took

Tahli-Damen's reins and gently nudged the flanks of his own mount.

"He's the man who caused my blindness!" the merchant called as they cantered forward, then broke into

a gallop.

"Perhaps he would change that if he could," his partner called back.

Tahli-Damen clung to the saddle horn and gazed ahead into the blue. He didn't respond for a while. At

last he shouted, "I'm not sure, now, if I'd like my sight back. I learned so much by losing it."

"Well, as I said before: You can't count on them, but there are miracles."

The desert breeze, raised to a wind by their riding in the face of it, chapped Tahli-Damen's lips and

watered his sky blue eyes He closed them and clung more tightly to the saddle.

He said no more, and his companion offered no further con-versation. He imagined the nighttime sky

above them as their mounts carried them deeper into the Tellera Desert.

There was something reassuring about the emptiness of this place. He'd remarked on it every time he'd

crossed it and he'd made many trips in his years as a captain of caravans. He liked the desert's brooding

silence and the way the flatness of the distant horizon added stature to the horse and rider. He found a

peculiar grandness in being the tallest object visible between the earth and the open sky. While he

couldn't see the horizon, he knew it was there, stretching out before him like a sandy ocean, as flat, as

empty as—

The blow knocked him from his saddle, hurling him to the ground with a crunch. His scream never had

time to form. There was the odor everywhere of desert dogs, of fetid breath, and of terror. One beast

leaped astride his chest and slavered in his face as another ripped at his gown. Still another batted his

head with a heavy paw. He'd been mauled by a dog before and thus had a horror of them already. But

these were no ordinary dogs. "Show!" one growled in his ear. "Where!" an-other barked. "Now!" a third

bayed at the sky, and the word turned into a horrible elongated howl. He fought them off, flailing his arms

and rolling onto his stomach to shield his treasure beneath him. This only incensed the pack, and some

began to burrow under him, raking his sides with their claws. Others ripped savagely at his back. Now

he screamed, screamed again, and screamed yet a third time as the high, fierce screech of a

fast-approaching bird of prey shattered the desert peace still further. He'd already given himself up for

dead and was bewailing the injustice of dying as the dinner of a pack of desert dogs, when the whole

pack scattered at a run. He heard the falcon screech again, at some distance now, then heard the fast

beat of powerful wings churning toward him, over his head, and away in the opposite direction. The

Tellera resumed its placid, silent character as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Desert dogs—real desert dogs—did not attack human trav-elers. Tahli-Damen doubted these were

dogs at all, and the thought terrified him. But his dread and dismay rested not upon the attack of these

weird dogs alone, but also on the shape taken on by his rescuer. He had suspected it earlier, but forbade

himself to believe it. Now he knew with certainty the identity of his traveling companion. He couldn't

move from the place where he'd fallen. Had he been able, he would have burrowed into the sand.

"Let me help you up," his companion said quietly.

Tahli-Damen made no move to respond. "You're Pelmen."

The stranger sighed. Instead of hoisting up the blind blue-faither, he sat beside him in the sand. "Are you

surprised?"

"Not surprised," Tahli-Damen mumbled into the earth. "Just terrified."

"You'd thought taking the sky blue robe would free you from the influence of powershapers."

"I had hoped," the blind man said mournfully.

"Hmm." Pelmen nodded. "I thought that too, once. But as long as there are powers to shape, then

shapers will use them to their selfish, evil ends."

"So you battle powers with powers," Tahli-Damen said bit-terly. "And I am, again, between you!"

"It's either be between us or be alone with the dogs of Flayh. It wasn't me they attacked. It was you."

"To get at you," the merchant said evasively.

"No. To get that pyramid of crystal that hangs around your neck."

Tahli-Damen clutched the object to him. "So now you'll take it away, instead."

Pelmen snorted. "If I'd wanted it, I would have it already. You slept for several hours this afternoon,

remember?"

"Why didn't you take it, then?"

"I supposed that the Power we serve has given you some instructions concerning it. Am I right?"

Tahli-Damen responded grudgingly. "I've been sent to give it to the Prophet Lamath."

"Then I suggest we be on our way. If we stay here, those doglike demons will be back—and not even a

powershaper has limitless energy."

Tahli-Damen felt himself being pulled to his feet and was led across the sand. He was relieved to hear

the stamping of his horse and to feel the animal's strong back come under him as Pelmen helped him up.

He'd feared that the horses were lost. After a moment of silence, Tahli-Damen got up the nerve

to ask a hesitant question. "Do you know the Prophet of La-math?"

"You might say that," Pelmen muttered. Then he grabbed the reins of Tahli-Damen's pony, and they

were off again through the desert.

By the time the sun rose on their third day of travel, they'd left the high desert behind and descended into

the region of the rivers. Here the moist air gave welcome relief to their dust-encrusted lungs. They began

to encounter trees, first singly, then in stands of six or eight. At last they were into the de-ciduous woods

that lined all the tributaries of the mighty La-mathian River. These were not tall, dark forests like the

massive Great Firs. They were, instead, comfortable parklands where boys could stage adventures and

young lovers could stroll in safe semi-privacy. The woods were interspersed with fields, and these were

Robert Don Hughes - Pelman 03 - The Power and the Prophet

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