The prophet of lamath, p.17
The Prophet of Lamath, page 17
The King tired at last of waving his arms to the throng, and he came to take his throne once more. He was chuckling as he leaned over to speak in Latithia's ear. "I've decided to send the contents of my dungeon with the army. A kind of peace offering for the dragon." "You seem to be taking all of this rather lightly," Latithia said tonelessly.
Talith sat back in his chair and gestured at the field below. "Look there! My father never formed an army this large, nor my grandfather either! Isn't that cause enough for my mood of celebration? Why can't you let yourself enjoy it along with me?" "All I can think about is that someone has my Bronwynn in chains! I keep imagining her, languishing in a dungeon somewhere-or worse!" "As do I! Why do you think I've formed this invasion force?" "To become King of the world!" she spat out bitterly. "What do you know of dungeons? Nothing, save that you intend to feed the unfortunates in yours to the two-headed beast! Well, while you've been posturing and proclaiming yourself something special, I've been sitting in my locked apartments, a captive in my own palace. I know what my child is experiencing, and it causes me to weep myself to sleep each night!" "Woman, I have told you I intend to rescue her!" "Ha!" she snorted. "Rolan-Keshi will rescue her . . . perhaps-if he can spare the time from conquering the world for you! You haven't even arrested those who kidnapped her!" "I assure you, Latithia, that when Pelman is apprehended he will be thoroughly punished . . ." "Pelman! Pelman was in your dungeon the night she was stolen, or have you forgotten that too in your blindness?" "What blindness?" Talith snarled coldly.
"The blindness that takes you daily to the bed of the one who spirited my daughter away!" Talith laughed harshly and sneered at her. "There it is, that jealousy again. I knew when Joss told me you had to be seated with me that it would come to this." The King slouched on his throne, fingering his wispy beard angrily.
Latithia's pale complexion was suffused with a crimson glow. Her proud, handsome jaw was clenched tightly, and her eyes were wide open with rage. Yet when she opened her mouth to speak, her tone was relaxed, almost lighthearted. "Perhaps you aren't blind at all. Maybe it is I who have been blind. Blaming Bronwynn's kidnapping on poor Ligne, when actually you had her abducted to give you an excuse to conquer the world!" "Guards!" Talith screamed, leaping to his feet. Instantly there was a swarm of warriors standing on the uppermost platform. The King was livid. "Escort the Lady Latithia to her chambers, immediately!" "My Lord . . ." Joss began.
"She is not to leave them, nor is she to see anyone save myself! Move!" With a guard on either side of her, the Queen turned her chin up and walked gracefully to the stairway. A hush was settling over the crowd as row after row turned from the parade to watch the drama unfolding on the high platform.
"My Lord," Joss said urgently, "it is traditional that the King's Lady announce the choice of the King's champion-" Joss realized too late his unfortunate choice of words. The King turned to him with a look of mocking triumph.
"And so she shall!" Talith gloated, and he walked to the railing and leaned over it. "Ligne!" he called. The woman had not taken her eyes off the King since the beginning of the day's events. Now she responded to the awaited cue. In moments she was standing by his side, throwing kisses to the roaring multitude. "You are to nominate Rolan-Keshi as my champion," Talith whispered to her as they both smiled and waved.
"I will not," she whispered back, and Talith jerked around to stare at her.
"Listen, woman, I have already had one argument on this platform today-" "I wouldn't nominate anyone save you, my love," she smiled at him, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Rolan-Keshi indeed! You would allow that ridiculous farm lad to rob you of the glory intended solely for you? You must be the conquering hero of the Lamathian war! You are the King!" "But-" Ligne stopped him with a hand on his mouth and whispered, "Make a hero of Rolan-Keshi and you make of him a rival. Conquer Lamath yourself-and no man on earth will be able to stand next to you!" Ligne pointed to the trumpeters, and they sounded the horns immediately, without questioning her authority. The King was lost once more in his dreams of glory, and his pride conquered his judgment. As Ligne announced that the King would lead his own army of deliverance, the marching warriors joined their cheers to those of the crowd.
Kherda cheered as loudly as a twelve-year-old caught up in the highest frenzy of hero worship. But his accolades were not for the King. Rather, he cheered the slim brunette who stood at the monarch's side. Once again, Ligne had turned disaster into victory with a whisper and a quiet touch.
With the pandemonium at the parade grounds, few people noticed the small chartered boat slipping out of the port and turning downriver to the sea. On the deck a large man stood leaning on the mainmast. Admon Faye was bound for Lamath.
The Lamathian farmer wiped his forehead and replaced his hat without breaking stride. Once he got this old ox started plowing he didn't like to stop it unless it was absolutely necessary. As he followed the plow he sighted on an oak on the far side of his property, doing his best to cut a furrow that would be straight. But his mind wasn't really on his plowing. It had to be done, if he were to make his living, but that didn't mean he had to think about it. He thought instead of the queer new religious ideas he'd been hearing bandied about in the village, and wondered where people got the time to cook up such weird notions.
A shadow nicked across him as something passed between him and the sun, and he casually glanced up to see what it was. Then he shook his head to clear it, his forehead creased with concern. He needed to get out of the sun. What would the other men say if he told them he'd actually seen the dragon fly overhead? Such visions were for priests and for giddy young wives. He decided he should concentrate harder on his plowing. Of course, he would keep his mouth shut about this apparition. He had his reputation to protect.
"There was another one," Vicia said sourly, longing to wrest control away from his heedless twin.
"Too scrawny," Heinox said, dismissing him. "Couldn't make a light snack off that, much less a decent meal." "You could have had the cow!" Vida complained. "I would have settled for the fanner." Heinox snorted, "You know I don't like beef." "Then I'll eat the cow. I'm hungry!" "We'll find something soon. Keep watching." Heinox altered the dragon's course slightly with a lazy flip of its left wing, and Vicia settled back into foul-tempered impotence. He hated being dragged about like this.
"Now I know what a tail feels like," the surly dragon head commented.
"You said it, not I," Heinox told him rudely, carefully studying the valley floor. It was crisscrossed with the etchings of thousands of tiny plows, but nowhere did he see any concentration of humans worthy of his interest. There were hundreds of villages scattered across the northern river valleys of Lamath, but most were small, and all seemed to be hidden in the trees. Those villages he had spotted seemed deserted. "These Lamathians are being most uncooperative," he said at length.
"I told you we should have gone south. The villages are bigger, and the people have a tangy flavor!" "I don't like all that spice in my belly." "It happens to be my belly too, and I like the flavor of Chaons!" yelled Vicia.
"Then fly there-if you're able," Heinox baited him spitefully.
Vicia gnashed his teeth and lidded his giant eyes, and dipped into his imagination, seeking a new trick to regain control. This had been the continuing pattern of the last few days. Vicia would find some means of throwing Heinox off balance and would seize command, and would hold it until Heinox thought of a way to distract Vicia. The game was growing more intense with each exchange; once a trick was used, both heads took pains to guard against that particular tactic in the future. The moments of critical importance were those immediately preceding sleep and immediately after waking, for while one head did not sleep unless the other slept as well, each head harbored its own thoughts and responded differently to the sleep experience. This morning, for example, Heinox had awakened with a start, refreshed and rested and ready to go, while Vicia, exhausted from a long day of struggling to maintain control, had difficulty leaving behind his pleasant dreams of less complicated times. Now he suffered for it, and strained to come up with a new ploy. His eyes popped open. He had it.
"Give up?" Heinox sneered.
"I'm too hungry to fight with you, you irresponsible, unreasonable lizard!" Heinox did not reply. He was enjoying himself enormously.
"Drop down a bit, I think I see our dinner," Vicia lied, and Heinox coasted down off of the current he had been riding and hit a pocket of air. Normally air pockets caused the dragon no problem, but this was not a normal time. Vicia still had complete control of his own neck and head, and now he shot himself up at a right angle to the rest of the dragon body and opened his mouth wide. The sudden shift in wind resistance threw Heinox off course, and Vicia shifted back downward, struggling to clutch dominion once again. But Heinox wouldn't yield, and for several seconds the giant body plunged forward and down without effective guidance.
"You're causing us to . . ." Several peasants in a hamlet three-quarters of a mile away were exchanging pleasantries when they heard a loud fluttering, a sound like canvas being torn by the wind, and felt a slight concussion as something big made a heavy impact on the earth. All shielded their eyes against the sun and looked toward the southwest. It seemed a cloud of dust was rising from that quarter.
"Came from over by the monastery," one peasant observed.
"Lot of strange goings-on at that monastery this year," another drawled. Though all were curious, no one said anything more about it. It wasn't smart to get too involved in this religion business. Especially not lately.
". . . crash!" Heinox finally finished his sentence with a growl, tasting the dust caked around his teeth. Vicia reeled a bit, but he had not taken the blow as hard as his companion. While Heinox had warned, Vicia had positioned himself to absorb the shock. Heinox' forehead had made a most convenient cushion. Vicia chuckled as Heinox wobbled up out of the dirt.
"It's fortunate we landed in a plowed field," Vicia said. "If we'd hit a patch of rocks we could have been skinned up rather badly." He was in complete authority over the workings of their body, and felt quite proud of himself. Heinox was understandably cross.
"What's this?" Heinox snarled.
Across the furrowed field came a line of figures, all wrapped in robes of sapphire blue. They came slowly, stepping from one crumbling ridge to the next. Vicia-Heinox was rather pleased, at first. The dragon was unaccustomed to this kind of reception from humans when he went foraging abroad for food. But as the group picked its way closer, Heinox grew anxious.
"What are they doing?" he said. "Can't they see I'm a dragon?" Vicia did not reply. It was indeed puzzling.
The column of blue-clad men and women formed a semicircle before the dragon, and the leader, who appeared to be either a very young man or else a woman, stepped forward to speak.
"We offer ourselves to you. Lord, and count it an honor that you would choose us!" The voice quavered, but the words flowed smoothly. Had the dragon been more acquainted with such things, he would have realized the speech was rehearsed. The robes hid all but the faces of the small group, and these were all chalky white. Fear Vicia-Heinox could understand. It was these words that didn't make sense.
"What are you offering yourselves for?" Vicia asked curiously.
"He speaks," several cultists murmured in awe, and the leader turned to hush them.
"Please excuse the disbelief of my brothers and sisters," said the speaker. It was now clear that she was a woman. Her voice trembled as she bravely answered the dragon's question. "We offer ourselves for any purpose the Lord commands." "What lord?" Heinox asked, rising up and over the gathered group and swiveling around to look at these strange people from behind.
"Why does the Lord ask who he is-" a young man whispered, but the leader quickly cut him off, her impatience heightened by her own terror.
"He's testing us, don't you see? The heart of the creed, together now, recite!" The entire group fell to its knees in unison, and all struck the same pose. Both hands were formed into the shape of the letter C, as a child would when making shadow animals in the candlelight. Both arms were raised above the head and then crossed, hands opening outward. Heinox looked ,at Vicia inquiringly.
"What are they doing?" With a hint of a dragon smile, Vicia replied quietly, "I think they are doing an imitation of us!" "I believe in the Dragon," they all began together. "May he preserve us. May he hold the stars and earth together in tension. May he hold good and evil together in tension. May he hold my interests and his interests together in tension, until such a time as I shall pass over or be chosen. May the Dragon live forever. So be it." The rhythm was unnatural. The words had been repeated so many times throughout the centuries that they had really lost their meaning.
Heinox snorted, and a number of the quaking monastics twisted around to squint up at him. Never in any imaginative vision of their god had they pictured just how large and pointed his teeth really were. Though the dragon's size had been greatly exaggerated down through the ages, the paintings and statues of him never captured this feeling of threatening immediacy. This was no terra-cotta figure, this was a real live dragon! Not only did his teeth glisten and his eyes flash, but he had remarkably bad breath. Could anyone blame the two cultists who fainted into the furrow? "You believe in the dragon, do you?" Heinox snarled. His Jaw was aching where he had slammed into the dirt, and he seized this opportunity to ventilate his frustration.
"Oh, yes, yes, we do!" a dozen devotees cried out as they turned, still on their knees, to face him.
"I say, that's rather rude, to turn your backs on your own god," Vicia said huffily, and now the entire group swiveled back around to face him, still kneeling.
"One moment, please!" said Heinox. "I also happen to be a part of this dragon, and I deserve an equal share of the attention!" The cultists were in a quandary. They huddled together for a moment, and the leader turned to address the dragon once again, doing her best to make eye contact with both heads at once.
"Lord, do you think it might be possible for both of your heads to stay on one side? I mean, it is very difficult for us and we're getting our robes all dirty-" "What sort of priestess are you, anyway?" Heinox teased, angling down into the girl's face. "First you say you offer yourself to me, then you try to tell me what to do!" The girl was petrified. She stared for a moment into those great, faceted eyes, and gave the only response she knew to give.
"I believe in the Dragon, may he preserve us, may he hold-" She was back in the crossed-arm posture, eyes shut, quoting the remembered scripture as loudly and earnestly as she could. The others quickly joined her.
Heinox pulled away, and glided back across the heads of the feverishly muttering monastics to counsel together with Vicia. "My jaw hurts." "Mine does, too," Vicia replied.
"How could it, you didn't hit yours!" Heinox groused.
"No, but you were clumsy enough to hit yours, and your jaw is my jaw too, remember?" "But it doesn't hurt you as much as it hurts me!" "Would you stop worrying about our jaw? I'm trying to listen." "Listen to what?" "To what my worshippers are saying about me." Heinox stared hard at Vicia, then snorted. "I knew it." "Knew what?" "I knew as soon as these curious humans started calling us a god that it would go straight to your head." "Why not be a god?" Vicia asked, preening there shared body proudly. "Who else in the world would qualify?" "Oh no," Heinox groaned, and he laid himself backward into the dirt. "Not this. Anything but this." "Tell me," Vicia began loudly, and the chattering was silenced. All eyes were fixed on him. Vicia arched his neck vainly and asked, "How long have you been worshipping me?" The question seemed simple enough to Vicia, but the monastics appeared thunderstruck, and there were several minutes of serious theological debate before an acceptable answer was formulated.
"We have been faithful before you!" the leader replied piously.
"That hardly answers my question," Vicia sniffed, touching off another debate that went on even longer than the first.
The community historian won this one, and now he spoke up, his voice cracking nervously. "We have been faithful to the true belief for over three hundred years, Lord! This order has stood firm on the issue of your coherence, and has staunchly denied any Divisionist heresies!" The little speaker scrambled backward after his speech, hiding himself in the group.
Vicia was perplexed. Heinox cackled, rolling himself in the brown earth, gently massaging his jaw into the soil.
"Three hundred years!" Vicia marveled. Then he slipped over to Heinox and asked, "How much is three hundred years?" "You know I can't count." "We're going to have to learn how to do that. It seems to be very important." "I thought you were hungry." "I am!" "Then let's cut out this nonsense and eat these people!" "Would you please have a little patience? I've never been a god before." "You aren't one now." "How do you know?" "We are a dragon, Vicia. Dragons are not gods." "Am I a god?" Vicia asked the crowd.
"I believe in the Dragon, may he preserve us, may he hold-" they all began in unison, and Vicia looked smugly at his twin as the litany was repeated.
"They are people! Are you going to believe their word over that of your very own other head?" Heinox asked.
"My very own other head has been nothing but a nuisance lately!" Vicia snarled back.
"Very well then, be a god," Heinox snorted, "but I intend to remain as fully dragon as it is possible for me to be-under the circumstances. Would you be quiet!" he roared at the droning devotees, and they stopped their recitation and looked up at him. "If you must do that, do it to yourselves. It's getting on my nerves!" "The-the creed displeases our Lord Vicia-Heinox-?" "I am not your Lord, nor anyone's Lord. I am not a god in any form, though I seem to be having difficulty convincing the other half of me of that." The assembled monastics reeled in disbelief. One finally managed to stammer, "Then-the Divisionists are right?" This unleashed a flurry of loud discussion. "Heresy! Heresy!" the historian shouted. "You blaspheme the Dragon!" "But he said himself-" "The Dragon is testing us," the leader cried, her own voice tinged with uncertainty.
