The Hidden City (26 page)

‘Sorry, Master Valash,' Stragen apologized in a servile tone. Tron and I were busy extricating young Reldin here from a tense situation. Reldin's very good, but he overextends himself sometimes. Anyway, you wanted to meet my associates,' He laid one hand on Sparhawk's shoulder. ‘This is Fron. He's a tavern brawler, so we let him deal with any situation that can be settled with a few quick punches or a kick in the belly. The boy there is Reldin, the nimblest sneak-thief I've ever known. He can wriggle through mouse-holes, and his ears are sharp enough to hear ants crossing the street on the other side of town.'

‘I just want to hire him, Vymer,' Valash said. ‘I don't want to buy him.' He giggled at his own joke. He smirked at them, clearly expecting them to join in his laughter. Talen, however, did not laugh. His eyes took on an icy glitter.

Valash seemed a bit abashed by their reception of his feeble joke. ‘Why are you all dressed as sailors?' he asked, more for something to say than out of any real curiosity.

Stragen shrugged. ‘It's a port city, Master Valash. The streets are crawling with sailors, so three more won't attract any particular attention.'

Valash grunted. ‘Have you anything for me that I might find worth my while?' he asked in a superior, bored tone of voice.

Talen snatched off his cap. ‘You'll have to decide that for yourself, Master Valash,' he whined, as he bowed awkwardly. ‘I
did
come across something, if you'd care to hear it.'

‘Go on,' Valash told him.

‘Well, sir, there's this rich Tamul merchant who owns a big house over in the fancy part of town. He's got a
tapestry on the wall of his study that I've had my eye on for quite some time now. It's a very good one – lots of tiny stitches, and the color hasn't faded very much. The only trouble is that it covers the whole wall. You can get a fortune for really good tapestry, but only if you can get it all out in one piece. It's not worth much if you have to cut it up to carry it out. Anyway, I went into his house the other night to try and come up with some way to get it out without butchering it. The merchant was in the study, though, and he had a friend with him – some noble from the imperial court at Matherion. I listened at the door, and the noble was telling the merchant about some of the rumors running around the imperial palace. Everybody's saying that the Emperor's very unhappy with these people from Eosia. That attempt to overthrow the government last fall really frightened him, and he'd like to come to some kind of agreement with his enemies, but this Sparhawk person won't let him. Sarabian's convinced that they're going to lose, so he's secretly outfitted a fleet of ships all loaded down with treasure and as soon as trouble shows up on the horizon, he's going to make a run for it. The courtiers all know about his plans, so they're stealthily making arrangements for their own escapes when the fighting starts. Some morning very soon this Sparhawk's going to wake up and find an unfriendly army at his gates and nobody around to help hold them off.' He paused. ‘Was that the sort of information you wanted?'

The Dacite made some effort to conceal his excited interest. He put on a deprecating expression. ‘It's nothing we haven't heard before. About all it does is help to confirm what we've already picked up.' He tentatively pushed a couple of small silver coins across the table. ‘I'll pass it on to Panem-Dea and see what they think about it.'

Talen looked at the coins and then at Valash. Then he crammed his cap back on. ‘I'll be leaving now, Vymer,' he said in a flat tone, ‘and don't waste my time on this cheapskate again.'

‘Don't be in such a rush,' Stragen said placatingly. ‘Let me talk with him first.'

‘You're making a mistake, Valash,' Sparhawk told the Dacite. ‘You've got a heavy purse hanging off your belt. If you try to cheat Reldin, he'll come back some night and slice open the bottom of it. He won't leave you enough to buy breakfast.'

Valash put his hand protectively over his purse. Then he opened it with what appeared to be extreme reluctance.

‘I thought Lord Scarpa was at Natayos,' Stragen said casually. ‘Has he moved his operations to Panem-Dea?'

Valash was sweating as he counted out coins, his fingers lingering on each one as if he were parting with an old friend. ‘There are a lot of things you don't know about our operation, Vymer,' he replied. He gave Talen a pleading look as he tentatively pushed the money across the table.

Talen made no move to accept the coins.

Valash made a whimpering sound and added more coins.

‘That's a little better,' Talen told him, scooping up the money.

‘Then Scarpa's moved?' Stragen asked.

‘Of course not,' Valash retorted. ‘You didn't think his
whole
army's at Natayos, did you?'

‘That's what I'd heard. He has other strongholds as well, I take it?'

‘Of course. Only a fool puts his entire force in one place, and Scarpa's far from being a fool, I'll tell the world. He's been recruiting men in the Elene kingdoms of western Tamuli for years now, and he sends them all
to Lydros and then on to Panem-Dea for training. After that, they go on to either Synaqua or Norenja. Only his crack troops are at Natayos. His army's at least five times larger than most people believe. These jungles positively seethe with his men.'

Sparhawk carefully concealed a smile. Valash obviously had a great need to appear important, and that need made him reveal things he shouldn't be talking about.

‘I didn't know Scarpa's army was so big,' Stragen admitted. ‘It makes me feel better. It might be nice to be on the winning side for a change.'

‘It's about time,' Sparhawk growled. ‘I'm getting a little tired of being chased out of every town we visit before I've even had the time to unpack my sea-bag.' He squinted at Valash. ‘As long as the subject's come up anyway, could we expect Scarpa's people out there in the brush to take us in if things turn sour and we have to make a run for it?'

‘What could possibly go wrong?'

‘Have you ever taken a good look at an Atan, Valash? They're as tall as trees, and they've got shoulders like bulls. They do unpleasant things to people, so I want a friendly place to come down to if I suddenly have to take flight. Are there any other safe places out there in the woods?'

Valash's expression grew wary as if he had suddenly realized that he'd said too much already.

‘Ah – I think we know what we need to, Fron,' Stragen interposed smoothly. ‘There
are
safe places out there if we really need to find them. I'm sure there are many things Master Valash knows that he's not supposed to talk about.'

Valash puffed himself up slightly, and his expression took on a knowing, secretive cast. ‘You understand the situation perfectly Vymer,' he said. ‘It wouldn't be
proper for me to reveal things Lord Scarpa's told me in strictest confidence,' He pointedly picked up his papers again.

‘We won't keep you from important matters, Master Valash,' Stragen said, backing away. ‘We'll nose around town some more and let you know if we find out anything else.'

‘I'd appreciate that, Vymer,' Valash replied, shuffling his papers as his visitors departed.

‘What an ass,' Talen muttered as the three of them carefully descended the rickety staircase to the alley again.

‘Where did you learn so much about tapestry?' Sparhawk asked him.

‘I don't know anything about tapestry.'

‘You were talking as if you did.'

‘I talk about a lot of things I don't know anything about. It fills in the gaps when you're trying to peddle something that's worthless. I could tell by the way Valash's eyes glazed over when I mentioned the word “tapestry” that he didn't know any more about it than I did. He was too busy trying to make us think that he's important to pay any real attention. I could get rich from that one. I could sell him blue butter.'

Sparhawk gave him a puzzled look.

‘It's a swindler's term,' Stragen explained. ‘The meaning's a little obscure.'

‘I'm sure it is.'

‘Did you want me to explain it?'

‘Not particularly, no,'

‘Is it a family custom? Or just a way to honor your father?' Berit asked Khalad as the two of them, wearing mail-shirts and grey cloaks, lounged against the forward rail of the scruffy lake-freighter plodding across the Sea of Arjun from Sopal to Tiana.

Khalad shrugged. ‘No, it's nothing like that. It's just that the men in our family all have heavy beards – except for Talen. If I decided not to wear a beard, I'd have to shave twice a day. I clip it close with scissors once a week and let it go at that. It saves time.'

Berit rubbed at his altered cheek. ‘I wonder what Sparhawk would do if I let his beard grow,' he mused.

‘He
might not do anything, but Queen Ehlana would probably peel you like an apple. She likes his face just the way it is. She's even fond of that crooked nose.'

‘It looks as if we've got weather up ahead.' Berit pointed toward the west.

Khalad frowned. ‘Where did
that
come from? The sky was clear just a minute ago. It's funny I didn't smell it coming.'

The cloud-bank hovering low on the western horizon was purplish black, and it roiled ominously, swelling upward with surprising speed. There were flickers of lightning deep inside the cloud, and the sullen rumble of thunder came to them across the dark, choppy waters of the lake.

‘I hope these sailors know what they're doing,' Berit said. ‘That has the earmarks of a very nasty squall.'

They continued to watch the inky cloud as it boiled higher and higher, covering more and more of the western sky.

That's not a natural storm, Berit,' Khalad said tensely. ‘It's building too fast.'

Then there was a shocking crash of thunder, and the cloud blanched and shuddered as the lightning seethed within it. Both the young men saw the shadowy shape in the instant that the bluish lightning thrust back the darkness to reveal what lay hidden in the cloud. ‘Klæl!' Berit gasped, staring at the monstrous,
winged shape half-concealed in the churning storm-front.

The next crash of thunder ripped the sky, and the shabby vessel shuddered in the overwhelming sound. The inverted wedge of Klæl's face seemed to ripple and change in the midst of its veiling cloud, and the slitted eyes flamed in sudden rage. The great, batlike wings began to claw at the approaching storm, and the awful mouth opened to roar forth the thunder of Klæl's frustration. He howled in vast fury, and his enormous arms stretched up into the murky air, reaching hungrily to clutch at something that was not there.

And then the thing was gone, and the unnatural cloud tattered and streamed harmlessly off to the southeast to become no more than a dirty smudge on the horizon. The air, however, was filled with a sulphurous reek.

‘You'd better pass the word to Aphrael,' Khalad said grimly. ‘Klæl's loose again. He was looking for something, and he didn't find it. God knows where he'll look next.'

‘Komier's arm is broken in three places,' Sir Heldin rumbled when he joined the mail-shirted Patriarch Bergsten, Ambassador Fontan, and Archimandrite Monsel in Monsel's book-littered study in the east wing of the palace, ‘and Darellon's still seeing two of everything. Komier can travel if he has to, but I think we'd better leave Darellon here until he recovers.'

‘How many knights are fit to ride?' Bergsten asked.

‘Forty thousand at most, your Grace.'

‘We'll just have to make do with what we've got. Emban knew that we'd probably come this way, and he's been sending messengers by the platoon. Things are coming to a head in southeastern Tamuli. Sparhawk's wife has been taken hostage, and our enemies
are offering to trade her for Bhelliom. There's a rebel army in the Arjuni jungles preparing to march on Matherion, and two more armies massing on the eastern frontier of Cynesga. If those armies all join up, the game's over. Emban wants us to ride east across the steppes until we're past the Astel Marshes and then turn south and lay siege to the Cynesgan capital. He needs a diversion of some kind to pull those armies back from the border.'

Sir Heldin pulled out his map. ‘It's workable,' he said after a moment's study, ‘but we're going to be a little light for that kind of job.'

‘We'll get by. Vanion's in the field, but he's badly outnumbered along that Cynesgan frontier. If we don't create enough of a disturbance to relieve some of the pressure on him, he'll be swarmed under.'

Heldin looked speculatively at the huge Thalesian patriarch. ‘You're not going to like this, your Grace,' he said, ‘but there's not much choice in the matter.'

‘Go ahead,' Bergsten told him.

‘You're going to have to lay your cassock aside and take command. Abriel's been killed, Darellon's incapacitated, and if Komier gets into a fight, the weight of his axe will cripple him.'

‘You're
still here, Heldin. You can take charge.'

Heldin shook his head. ‘I'm not a Preceptor, your Grace, and everybody in the army knows it. I'm also a Pandion, and the other orders have strong feelings about us. We haven't made very many friends in the past couple of centuries. The other orders won't accept me as commander. You're a Patriarch, and you speak for Sarathi – and the Church. They'll accept you with no argument.'

‘It's out of the question.'

‘Then we'll have to sit here until Dolmant sends us a new commander.'

‘We
can't
wait!'

‘My point exactly. Do I have your permission to tell the knights that you're taking command?'

‘I can't, Heldin. You know that I'm forbidden to use magic'

‘We can work our way around that, your Grace. There are plenty of accomplished magicians in the ranks. Just tell us what you want done, and we'll see to it.'