Robert Don Hughes - Pelman 03 - The Power and the Prophet.pdf - Robert Don Hughes - widez2

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.

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

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