The Prophet of LaMath
(Pelman the Prophet, Book 01)
by Robert Don Hughes
Chapter One
THERE WAS a saying in the land as old as the dust that stood ten inches deep in the back of his cavern, as old as the diamonds that he loved to toss from mouth to mouth. "Two heads are better than one," Vicia-Heinox would hear a passerby say, and he would nod with both of his in sage agreement, then eat the traveler whole. Vicia-Heinox was a two-headed dragon, the only one there had ever been-the only one which has ever been.
To say that Vicia-Heinox was the most powerful living creature anyone could remember is to understate the case. A one-headed dragon is a national emergency. A two-headed dragon, sitting astride the only truly usable pass on the north-south trade route, is a world problem. Vicia-Heinox was an environmental feature. He not only altered cultures, he was a factor in producing them. Three ancient nations feuded and skirmished around him, for he sat on the only frontier the three realms held in common. He had been actively involved in the history of each, and all held him in awe.
One could say that the dragon helped preserve the peace, for he refused to let armies march through his pass. On the other hand, one could say his presence constantly argued for war, for he strangled economic interchange between the giant powers. The only merchants he allowed to pass were very rich merchants. They had to be very rich, in order to pay his incredibly high toll in goods and slaves and still make a profit. They were also very wise merchants, who knew how to show honor and respect to the dragon who insured their financial well-being. No wisecracking merchant ever made his way through Dragonsgate. A misplaced remark about two heads, dropped thoughtlessly amid the bargaining with the beast, had been the bane of many a family fortune. Over a period of centuries this process of unnatural selection resulted in a very small company of sour, mean-tempered, closemouthed merchants controlling all of the inter-empire traffic.
This provided the primary cause of friction between the nations. Everyone knew that it was the merchants who controlled their economy. And because the merchants kept to themselves, each family holding a number of private estates scattered through each one of the kingdoms, the people of every land viewed the merchant families as foreigners. Because they hated merchants, the public hated foreigners. Because they hated foreigners, they warred on their neighbors.
But Vicia-Heinox straddled Dragonsgate, and armies couldn't march. The three lands waged no hot, quick wars on sunny days, moving in colorful array across great remembered battlefields. Instead, the three realms wrestled in one slow, dark war, a night war, fought in black and white. Skirmishes and raids replaced marches and charges. Generals were made by intrigue, not excellence. Cruelty was valued over bravery. The greathearted leaders of memory had long since been replaced by thieves. It was not a good world in which to live.
Except for Vicia-Heinox, who felt it couldn't be better. There were rulers of lands, but he ruled the rulers. The merchants controlled the countryside, but he controlled the merchants. And he ate well.
Every week a caravan or two would labor up one of the steep approaches to his pass. Some came up the short, sharp northeastern defile, carrying farm goods, rough textiles, and good sturdy tools from Lamath. Others toiled up the long, narrow southern route from golden Chaomonous, patron of the arts. Finely crafted luxury items and exotic objects from foreign lands came with these southerly caravans, for the people of Chaomonous were seafaring men, who prided themselves on their travels. But it was the western entrance to Dragonsgate that the beast watched most carefully, for two reasons. Ngandib-Mar was a mountainous empire, and caravans from this region did not have to climb so far to reach the pass. One very tricky, very quick trading captain had managed to sneak in and past the dragon while he was napping once, but that had been many years before. Any captain so foolish as to try to repeat the trick Vicia-Heinox took great pleasure in charbroiling, for it was from the mines of Ngandib-Mar that the dragon obtained his wealth. Chaomonous was indeed called golden, but in fact most of its gold passed through Dragonsgate first-and the dragon always got his share. The jewels of Ngandib-Mar, though, were the objects of his passion. He demanded and received the finest Ngandib-Mar could send him: great, white gems the size of a giant's skull, and multifaceted, multicolored stones that dazzled even in the moonlight. These were the beast's playthings, in the idle hours between meals-caravans. Vicia, the dragon's left head, would grip a giant stone between his lips and toss it high into the air, then would move out of the way of Heinox, the right head, who would try to catch it. It pleased the dragon to watch the sparkling light dance through the gem as it twisted in the sky. The game was to see how many times a stone could be tossed and caught before one of the dragon's heads misjudged and it was swallowed instead. Vicia-Heinox swallowed a lot of diamonds this way. He was in constant need of a fresh supply.
And, naturally, he was also in constant need of food. Now, some dragons preferred to eat cattle. Others liked the sport of catching flocks of birds on the wing, though this was indeed a seasonal type of meal. Some dragons, mostly of the island-dweller varieties, really preferred seafood, and could move through the waterways as easily as they could soar through the air. But Vicia-Heinox was a perverse sort of dragon, the kind that gave all dragons a bad name. Vicia-Heinox took pleasure in talking to his dinner before he ate it. How the hideous beast came by this disgusting proclivity for dinner conversation cannot be dealt with here. It must simply be said that this was an old habit, one not easy for the dragon to break, even had he been so inclined. And this had resulted in a rebirth of the long-dead institution of slavery.
Before the dragon straddled Dragonsgate-before it became Dragonsgate-slavery was viewed by civilized man as an aberration of primitives, to be stamped out wherever possible. But that was long ago. When the dragon first came, he didn't rest in the pass when he got hungry. He simply took to the wing, swallowing everything in his path. After the entire populations of several cities disappeared into the dragon's belly, the rulers of the world agreed that something had to be done. Royal armies, clothed in the brilliant livery of long-forgotten empires, marched on the beast from all fronts. It was the last great march for many storied kingdoms.
It wasn't that Vicia-Heinox breathed fire. That is a popular misconception. Though few lived who ever witnessed the beast's power displayed, those who did never mentioned any flames. Rather, the two-headed monster in some unknown way generated heat-waves of burning heat-and, focusing on an object with all four eyes, would char it out of existence. So went the combined arms of empires. So had gone every army raised against him since.
Now, Vicia-Heinox knew nothing about slavery. In fact, there were a great many things the dragon knew nothing about, for he was not a very curious beast, nor was he particularly bright. But the merchants knew of it, and to them it seemed the perfect solution to the otherwise insoluble problem of a dragon on their trade route. Hideous as he was, Vicia-Heinox did not bear full responsibility for the evil system that kept him fed. But it did keep him fed. He therefore preserved it.
On a day like most other days, the dragon lay on his back, playing with his baubles. He was not hungry, for only the day before a large caravan from Lamath had passed his home. The Lamathian warriors were generally not as cagey as the men of Chaomonous, but they were stalwart and level-headed. Some days before, a large troop of Lamathians had ambushed a Chaon slave-raiding party as it made its way toward the Spinal Range and safety. It was a truism known to all that "those who slave-raid are often slaves made," and most of the captured Chaons had served to subdue the dragon's appetite. He rested now, digesting, playing with his jewels and talking to himself.
"I think," said Vicia, "that I ought to learn how to count." "Why should I?" Heinox replied, somewhat puzzled by the idea.
"In order to play the game better," Vicia answered himself. "I have played it so long, yet what have I to show for it?" "Nothing," Heinox answered. "But then, I don't have anyone to show it to, either. Nor any reason to show it. Nor any reason to count-whatever counting is." "Counting is what the merchants do when they try to bargain with me," Vicia observed.
"Which is foolishness," Heinox replied, "since I take what jewels I like and eat what food suits me." "That's why I don't need to learn to count," Vicia nodded in agreement, and reached down to grasp a particularly large and beautiful stone between scaly lips. The jewel was gigantic by human estimation, but it was dwarfed by the dragon's gleaming teeth. With a mighty flip of his neck, the head known as Vicia launched it sparkling into the air. But Heinox heard a commotion from the southern approach to the pass, and the diamond bounced unnoticed off the dragon's hide.
"Why didn't I catch that?" "Because I hear a noise in Chaomonous," Heinox growled, and the right-hand head craned over the left to peer deeply into the pass. Vicia dropped an ear to the ground, listening closely and hearing now the approach of a force of men.
"Of caravan size," Vicia murmured, "but coming much faster than a caravan would normally." "Armed?" Heinox asked, rearing high into the sky, to the full extension of his mighty neck. There was a flash of reflected light far below him, like sunshine glistening off the golden armor of Chaomonous.
"Perhaps not the first party," Vicia advised, "but there is a second group of riders behind the first that may be. It moves much faster." Vicia-Heinox leapt into the sky, wings unfurling lazily. He soared upward, well above the lofty mountain cliffs surrounding his home, one head circling from south to west to north and back toward the south, the other head gazing intently at the column of armed warriors hesitating at the mouth of the southern entrance. The dragon screamed-a dreadful, piercing, full-throated duet of screeching sound-then flapped slowly toward the troop, both heads focusing carefully on it. The column broke immediately. Horses tossed riders, riders fought to turn their mounts from the dragon's gaze, and screams of terror echoed the dragon's screech back up at him. Within seconds the pass was clear of warriors. Those unfortunate enough to have been carried up the road by their panicked mounts, rather than down, died with their horses in an inglorious blaze. The dragon dropped down to investigate the remains, then jumped lightly over the caravan, now halfway up the incline. He settled slowly and gracefully onto the road thirty yards ahead of the struggling band, bringing it to an abrupt stop. Vicia glared straight down on the merchant captain, while Heinox cocked himself slightly to the side in a look of deep puzzlement.
"Merchant Pezi? And a week ahead of time?" The merchant reined in his horse, which was well used to the sight of this particular, dragon, and dismounted. He hitched his pants and started up toward the beast on foot. Pezi was fat and out of breath, and his pants immediately gave up and slipped back to their original position. He stopped to hitch them again, but couldn't find the strength. He looked up at Heinox and nodded. "Your Dragonship," Pezi acknowledged, puffing.
"Why so soon? And so hurried?" Heinox asked.
"And why do you bring soldiers to my nest?" added Vicia.
"I didn't bring them. They brought themselves." "Against me?" Vicia growled.
"Against me," the fat man muttered. He pulled a handkerchief from his handbag and blew his nose. It was a purple and red handkerchief, the colors of the merchant house of Uda. Pezi's own colors were dark blue and lime, the colors of the house of Ognadzu. Perhaps Pezi became self-conscious, for he explained: "It's a Uda trade gimmick. Free hankies. Let me blow my nose on the opposition." The dragon didn't comment, and Pezi shoved the scarf back into his bag. "What is happening is this. I've got some valuable cargo, your Dragonship, and a certain ruler of Chaomonous-" "Who?" asked Vicia.
"-who shall remain nameless, tried to steal it away." The two heads rose into the air, and looked one another in the eye. Pezi took several steps backward and looked around for a good place to run. When the dragon looked at himself, that wasn't good. The great head named Vicia turned to stare at the fat merchant once more, and began slowly dropping out of the sky toward him. Closer and closer it came, until one eye gazed into Pezi's face from only a yard away. Pezi had backed into his animal, and now the horse, too, was spooked. The dragon rarely came this close to a living thing he did not intend to eat.
"I don't believe you," Vicia hissed. He spoke quietly, Vicia thought, but at this distance the noise rattled through Pezi's relatively empty skull, and the merchant slammed both hands over his ears. Heinox had by now surveyed the entire length of the caravan, eyeing everything carefully and throwing a terrible scare into all present. He investigated particularly a curtained litter that was being carried by a team of eight slaves, all Maris. It was a nobly carved carriage, from what he could see, but what most attracted his attention were the drapes. They shimmered as only fish-satin shimmered, and they were interlaced with threads of finely spun gold. Only a member of the royal house of Chaomonous would travel in such a booth as this, and the dragon knew it.
"Is this your cargo?" Heinox thundered from right above the litter. Pezi jerked around to look up at the head high above, but he quickly turned back to look at Vicia as the left-hand head snorted behind him: "I was talking to you, merchant!" "Oh, ah, yes, ah . . ." "Is this the cargo, merchant?" Heinox roared behind him, and Pezi looked around again, but: "Answer me, merchant!" Vicia snarled, and that was all for Pezi, at least for the moment. He fell into a dead faint beneath his trembling horse.
"Now what have I done?" Heinox murmured.
"I was only asking him a simple question," Vicia grumbled. Then he growled loudly, "Can't any of you answer me? You!" Vicia-Heinox zeroed in on a pale rider in blue and lime who held tightly to the pommel of his saddle to keep from shaking all the way out of it. As Heinox darted down from nowhere to look him in the face, the rider threw up his hands in dismay . . . and fell out of the saddle, flat on his back. Had he, too, passed out? "You are faking. Get up!" Heinox ordered. The rider stayed put. "Get up or I'll eat you!" Still the rider lay in peaceful silence on his back, and Vicia-Heinox threw up his heads in disgust. He was focusing four eyes ,on the entire caravan, preparing to burn it all away, when someone spoke: "Excuse me, your Dragonship, but perhaps I can shed some light on this situation." The dragon stopped in mid-bum and looked himself in the eyes. Vicia dropped down to look at the speaker, a ragtag character near the end of the line.
"Are you of the family of Ognadzu?" the dragon asked. "You are certainly not dressed for it . . ."' "I am not of the house of Ognadzu, nor of any of the trading houses. I am Pelman, sometimes called Pelman the player, lately of Chaomonous. I was enslaved by the King for making an allusion to one of his mistresses in an ill-received play." "The Player? I've never heard of the family of Player," Vicia observed.
"But you can't be a slave," said Heinox. "You see, I've just eaten." "Which I take as a stroke of great luck," Pelman admitted.
"What is this caravan for. Player? It's too early, I'm still full!" "I suppose it comes as no shock to a dragon of your experience that these merchants are not in business entirely for your benefit," Pelman said quietly. Vicia shook his mighty head, and looked at Heinox.
"Did I understand that?" "I didn't, did I?" "I don't think so." "There is a trade war going on right now, your Dragonship. Each house is striving to get the better of the other houses. In the struggle, one might say the ethics of the League of Trade have . . . slipped, somewhat." "Ethics?" said both heads together. Vicia-Heinox was amazed at this little spokesman. Not only was Pelman the player not trembling, he even took his eyes off of the dragon as he spoke. He behaved as if he conversed with a peer at the gaming tables.
"Now what is happening here is an indication of the kind of thing that has been taking place in Chaomonous for some time," Pelman continued. He motioned the dragon to come closer. Both heads moved fluidly down to listen as he whispered conspiratorially: "You see, Pezi there has kidnapped the daughter of the royal house of Talith, and he carries her to Lamath to sell her for trading favors." About this time, Pezi was regaining his consciousness, if not his composure. "Where am I?" the fat merchant groaned, and Heinox slipped to the front of the column to answer him.
"You are under your horse," the dragon said, which was true; and though Pezi's question had been rhetorical, the dragon's answer did bring back to him the realities of the situation. He jumped up. Rather, he tried to jump up, but bumped his head against his horse's underbelly and fell down again. He rolled over with great effort, and tottered slowly to his feet.
"What's going on?" he muttered.
"Quiet," hissed Heinox, "I'm talking to the man from the house of Player." "Nonsense," snorted Pezi without thinking. "There is no house of Player. I know all of the royal and noble family names of all the districts, and the only Player I know is Pelman the player, and he's-" It suddenly struck him. "You're not talking to Pelman the player! Don't believe him! A pack of lies! The man's a public nuisance!" Pezi forgot himself. He ran toward the rear of the caravan, so upset at this turn of events that he forgot who it was he was talking to. The dragon reminded him.
Quickly. Suddenly Pezi was running into the opened jaws of Vicia; when he managed to get his belly turned in the other direction and looked away from those gaping jaws behind him, he found himself looking down the throat of Heinox. He stopped dead in his tracks, and clapped both hands over his mouth. The two pairs of teeth snapped shut together, with an almost metallic click. Pezi swallowed with some difficulty. "Excuse me, your Dragonship." Four eyes focused intently on Pezi, and the fat man sank to his knees under the burden of that steel-hard double gaze.
Pelman's rich, melodious voice broke the silence, filling the narrow canyon. "Of course, you really can't blame Pezi for his actions. Any of the trading families would do the same if they had the opportunity." Relief surged through Pezi as the giant heads lifted up and drifted back toward Pelman. He fished his handkerchief out of his handbag and mopped his sweaty forehead. He was seriously considering retiring from the business.
"I have not seen a human of royal blood since I ate six of them during the last great rebellion. I want to see this girl." Vicia dropped down to look Pelman in the eye. "You show her to me." "I would rejoice in the pleasure of introducing the lady to you, your Dragonship, but-as you see-I am chained." The dragon really hadn't noticed, but the fellow was indeed bound. Vicia-Heinox rarely observed such things, in any case. Only when he got pieces of chain caught between his teeth were they ever any problem to him. Heinox spoke to Pezi: "Release this man." The chubby salesman waddled down to Pelman as quickly as he could, fishing keys from his handbag. Once free, Pelman walked to the beautiful golden litter with a style and grace that belied his rags. Here he paused dramatically.
"I am sure the lady would have spoken to you sooner, your Dragonship, but as you see-" He swept aside the drapes. "-she, too, is bound." Pelman shot Pezi an accusing look. The merchant hung his head.
The dragon yawned. "So release her." "With pleasure," Pelman said, and he bent nobly to his task. He was a spry and energetic figure, not an old man by any means, but neither was he young. He had expressive blue eyes, and shoulder-length brown hair, and a face that was ordinary enough to allow him to remain unnoticed if he chose to be. It was his voice that most impressed the dragon, for it climbed and dropped with such personality and dignity that Vicia-Heinox was nearly mesmerized. He could not recall hearing any man speak with such assurance.
And speak Pelman did: "This lovely young lady, savagely ripped from the home of her father, will impress you, I think, with her gentleness. She has had the best of training in the art of being ladylike, for she's been surrounded since birth by the loveliest women of the realm. Now her father and I have not always seen eye to eye on every matter, I'll grant you, and the last time we spoke we did have a bit of trouble communicating, but I think he would agree with me that of all the ladies of his court, this one is the loveliest. I present to you the gentle Lady Bronwynn." At this Pelman removed the scarf that had gagged the young woman's mouth.
Free from her bonds at last, she leapt to her feet on the satin and brocade pillows of the litter and, pointing a finger at Pezi, shouted, "You fat little Lamathian mudgecurdle! I'll have the royal chefs carve your belly and roast a hunk of it for-" Pelman clapped a hand over the girl's mouth and struggled to hold her quiet while saying, "Of course, the lady is a bit upset at the moment . . ." "Quit that!" she managed to blurt out around his hand, and he let go of her as she fought her way out of the litter. She straightened her robes and lifted her chin, and muttered "Where's the dragon?" to Pelman. He pointed behind her, and she swept grandly around to get her first good look at this beast she had heard so much about.
Pelman heard her sharp grunt, and he put his hands on her shoulders to steady her. She backed into the security of his arms, and gasped, "He's . . . big . . ." "As I said," continued Pelman, "a Princess of impeccable manners and great modesty. Try not to shake so much, will you?" he added quietly in the girl's ear.
"You think I'm doing this on purpose?" she whispered back.
Vicia-Heinox sat back on his hind legs, and raised his heads high into the air.
"What do I do now?" Vicia muttered.
"What do I mean, do now?" Heinox asked.
"With this caravan. I'm not hungry. I don't need any new jewels. What does this merchant have that I want?" "I don't know, what does he have that I want?" "The girl perhaps?" Vicia asked. "After all, she is a Princess, and there must be something important to that. Otherwise, why would they clothe her in such delicate wrappings?" This statement was overheard by the little group below, and Bronwynn gathered her gown around her and shivered.
"Perhaps Princesses taste better than ordinary folk," Heinox suggested.
"Perhaps . . . perhaps I should . . ." "If I might interrupt, I believe you would be wasting this Princess if you were to eat her. Consider keeping her, as a-a companion," said Pelman.
"Thanks a lot!" the girl whispered fiercely. Pelman squeezed her tight and leaned down to her ear. "Try to be quiet and I may be able to extract us from this." She stopped her struggling, and listened.
"A companion. I could do that," Heinox said.
"If I knew what a companion is," Vicia added.
"A companion is someone you spend your time with, talk to, learn from. A companion can be a friend." Pelman noticed Bronwynn was gripping her ears and scowling at this.
"A friend?" Vicia said. "But I don't need a friend. I have . . . myself." And that gave Pelman an idea.
"Ah. I understand." He indicated Vicia. "You have him." He indicated Heinox. "And he has you. And you are friends." Vicia-Heinox looked at himself, then both of his heads looked at Pelman. "What?" the dragon asked. "I have myself and I have myself?" "Not quite the idea," Pelman went on quietly. "I mean you have each other." "Each other?" Vicia asked. "He isn't another, he is I. I think," he added.
"He who?" Pelman asked.
"Him," Vicia growled, growing irritated at the player's badgering tone. Then Vicia stopped. He looked at Heinox.
Heinox was already looking at Vicia. "Him?" Heinox muttered. The group of people below kept very quiet.
"I think I need to reason this out-" Vicia began, and Heinox said, "I think so too." The dragon looked at himself in great confusion.
Pelman bent to whisper again in Bronwynn's ear. "You see the plateau at the high point of the pass?" She nodded. "When I shout, make for that plateau, and then run to your left." "But that's Ngandib-Mar!" she protested. "Chaomonous is behind us-" "When the confusion begins, make for Ngandib-Mar," he repeated strongly. He began to plot the quickest route to Pezi's horse.
"I just said I need to reason this out," Vicia repeated.
"I did too," said Heinox.
"Yes, but-" "But what?" "But I already said that!" Vicia growled.
"I know!" Heinox growled back.
"I know I know! I said I knew!" Vicia growled again, more loudly this time.
"I know I said I knew! I said I said I knew!" Heinox trumpeted back.
"I know!" screeched Vicia.
"Now!" grunted Pelman, and Bronwynn scrambled up the divide as quickly as her legs and gowns would allow her. Pelman drove toward Pezi's horse. The other slaves, still chained together, began to run this way and that, pulling each other backward and forward in a deadly serious game of whiplash, a centipede of people trying desperately to get coordinated. Pezi, seeing Pelman grab the reins of his mount, hustled down the slope to jerk up the reins of the fallen rider's horse, which whinnied and backed away from this heavyweight who was trying to mount it. The fallen rider, who was just coming to, surveyed the chaos around him and decided he had been better off unconscious. He fainted once again.
And high in the sky, a curious thing was taking place. Vicia-Heinox, at an advanced age, had suddenly been confronted with a terrible identity crisis.
"I am trying to understand this, will I please cooperate?" Vicia bellowed.
"I am cooperating! I can't understand why I'm not cooperating!" Heinox screeched back.
Pelman mounted Pezi's horse and kicked its sides. The beast sprang forward, puzzled but delighted at the lightness of this new rider. Bronwynn was about to reach the pass proper, and Pelman urged the horse toward her at a trot.
"They're getting away!" Heinox shouted. "Can't I see they are getting away?" "Of course I can see it!" Vicia rumbled. The sound echoed off the sides of the canyon with a presence numbing to the ears, like a thunderclap at close range.
"Focus! Focus!" Heinox cried, but it was no use. As Heinox focused on Pelman, who was moving up the pass and bending down to sweep the golden Princess up onto the horse behind him, Vicia was focusing on Pezi, who was urging his reluctant animal into pursuit. Heinox shifted to focus on Pezi, but Vicia had turned to focus on Pelman. The great dragon gave a headsplitting, blood-chilling, back-bending scream of utter frustration, and flew straight up into the sky.
Pelman cast a glance over his shoulder at Pezi, and kicked his mount once again, driving it toward the west and the land of Ngandib-Mar. By the time Pezi reached the open clearing and looked after him, Pelman and the girl were well on their way into the highland plain of that land. Though he could still see them, they were far away by now-too far and moving too fast to follow. He looked up and watched the dragon high above him, turning erratic circles in the sky. He pulled a sword from its scabbard on the horse's saddle and turned to ride back down into the gorge. The line of slaves still struggled to coordinate a run for safety, and Pezi leveled the tip of his weapon at the back of one slave's head. "Silence!" he roared, his confident manner restored by the change in the situation. The slaves stopped shoving, and all turned to look at him. "Now," he said when all was quiet, "we move on to Lamath. It's a long walk. I suggest you save your breath." The column turned and, under Pezi's watchful eye, began once more to ascend the slope. "Bring the litter! It's bound to be worth something," Pezi grumbled, but as they carried it past him he ground his teeth together in anxiety and disgust. He would have some explaining to do to his uncle Flayh. And who would believe the true story? As he reined his horse in behind the last walker, his mind was hard at work constructing a lie that would absolve him of guilt. Pezi wasn't good at many things, but he was an accomplished liar. "To the right!" he shouted when the first man reached the fork. It would indeed be a long way to Lamath.
The banquet hall of Chaomonous was built of yellow marble. When all the tapers were lit, the walls reflected the favorite color of the golden King; all were burning brightly tonight. But the dinner conversation was subdued this evening, and the occasional giggle seemed out of place in the near-funereal atmosphere. What conversation there was subsided when a golden-mailed warrior entered the hall. He walked hesitantly toward the elevated table of the King. All could tell by the expression on his face that the news he brought wasn't good. No one was surprised when the King's silver goblet streaked through the room like a meteor; Talith frequently threw things when he was angry. It was a shock, however, when the object bounced off the distant back wall. No one had seen him that angry before.
"Advisors! To me!" the King shouted, then turned on his heel and stomped off the dais. All over the hall there were muttered "Pardon's" and "Excuse me's" as the King's experts bade good-bye for the night to their ladies and trotted toward the doorway on the east side of the room. The King headed for the chamber of his council of war. Plans would be made tonight that would shape the destiny of the empire.
Ligne, the King's latest mistress, watched him out the door and then reached for his plate. The best piece of meat lay untouched there, and she took great pleasure in finishing it off. She wished she were privy to the words of the council-but she had her spies sprinkled through the experts, so she would hear soon enough. Thus far things were proceeding exactly according to her plan.
As she licked the grease from her delicate fingers she noticed the Queen eyeing her with suspicion. Latithia, the Queen and mother of the Princess, was out of favor with the King these days. Ligne licked the last of the juice from her hand, then smiled brightly at the Queen, her blue eyes twinkling. The Queen looked away, and Ligne was pleased to note the flush of Latithia's cheeks. Those seated near Ligne gave no thought to her smug smile. These days Ligne often smiled like that.
"They weren't even mounted!" the King was shouting. "A group of slaves on foot! Only two riders! And they escaped you?" "It was a surprising move, my Lord," the exchequer said softly. "Pezi normally doesn't move his column until after he has a full complement of slaves. At this time of year he waits for the southern ships to dock, so he may add spices and fish-satin to his inventory. It will surely be two more weeks until the first of the fleet arrives-" "General Joss!" "My Lord?" "What of your spies in the trading houses? Why wasn't I informed she was being held in the house of Ognadzu?" The King's face wa...
allforjesus2001