The Prophet Of Lamath Read online

  The Prophet of La-Math

  (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 d
own 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.