The Hidden City (68 page)

Sparhawk recovered from the thrust and swept his bloody sword up in front of his face in salute. ‘An innovation,
Cyrgon,' he said in a detached sort of voice. ‘You're really very good, you know, but you ought to try to stay abreast of things.'

Cyrgon sagged to the flagstoned court, his immortal life spilling out through the gash in his breastplate. ‘And wilt thou take the world now, Anakha?' he gasped.

Sparhawk dropped to his haunches beside the stricken God. ‘No, Cyrgon,' he replied wearily. ‘I don't want the world – just a quiet little corner of it.'

‘Then why earnest thou against me?'

‘I didn't want you to have it either, because if you had, my little part wouldn't have been safe.' He reached out and took the pallid hand. ‘You fought well, Cyrgon. I have respect for you. Hail and farewell.'

Cyrgon's voice was only a whisper as he replied, ‘Hail and farewell, Anakha.'

There was a great despairing howl of frustration and rage. Sparhawk looked up and saw a man-shape of sooty red streaking upward into the dawn sky as Klæl resumed his endless journey toward and beyond the farthest star.

There was fighting somewhere – the ring of steel on steel and shouts and cries – but Ehlana scarcely heard the sounds as she stared down at the square lying between the ruins of the temple and the only slightly less ruined palace.

The sun was above the eastern horizon now, and it filled the ancient streets of Cyrga with harsh, unforgiving light. The Queen of Elenia was exhausted, but the ordeal of her captivity was over, and she yearned only to lose herself in her husband's embrace. She did not understand much of what she had just witnessed, but that was not really important. She stood at the battlements holding the Child Goddess in her arms, gazing down at her invincible champion far below.

‘Do you think it might be safe for us to go down?' she asked the small divinity in her arms.

‘The stairway's blocked, Ehlana,' Mirtai reminded her.

‘I can take care of that,' Flute said.

‘Maybe we'd better stay up here,' Bevier said with a worried frown. ‘Cyrgon and Klæl are gone, but Zalasta's still out there somewhere. He might try to seize the Queen again so that he can use her to bargain his way out of here.'

‘He'd better not,' the Child Goddess said ominously. ‘Ehlana's right. Let's go down.'

They went back inside, reached the head of the stairs and peered down through billowing clouds of dust. ‘What did you do?' Talen asked Flute. ‘Where did all the rocks go?'

She shrugged. ‘I turned them into sand,' she replied.

The stairway wound downward along the inside of the tower walls. Kalten and Bevier, swords in hand, led the way, prudently investigating each level as they reached it. The top three or four levels were empty, but as they began the descent to a level about midway down the inside of the tower, Xanetia hissed sharply, ‘Someone approaches!'

‘Where?' Kalten demanded. ‘How many?'

‘Two, and they do mount the stairs toward us.'

‘I'll deal with them,' he muttered, gripping his sword-hilt even more tightly.

‘Don't do anything foolish,' Alean cautioned.

‘It's the fellows coming up the stairs who are being foolish, love. Stay with the Queen.' He started on ahead.

‘I'll go with him,' Mirtai said. ‘Bevier, it's your turn to guard Ehlana.'

‘But –'

‘Hush!' she commanded. ‘Do as you're told.'

‘Yes, ma'am,' he surrendered with a faint smile.

A murmured sound of voices came echoing up the stairs.

‘Santheocles!' Ehlana identified one of the speakers in a short, urgent whisper.

‘And the other?' Xanetia asked.

‘Ekatas.'

‘Ah,' Xanetia said. Her pale brow furrowed in concentration. ‘This is not exact,' she apologized, ‘but it seemeth me that they are unaware of thy release, Queen of Elenia, and they do rush to thy former prison, hoping that by threatening thy life might they gain safe conduct through the ranks of their enemies.'

There was a landing perhaps twenty steps down the narrow stairway, and Kalten and Mirtai stopped there, stepping somewhat apart to give themselves room.

Santheocles, wearing his gleaming breastplate and crested helmet, came bounding up the stairs two at a time with his sword in his hand. He stopped suddenly when he reached the landing, staring at Kalten and Mirtai in stupefied disbelief. He waved his sword at them and issued a peremptory command in his own language.

‘What did he say?' Talen demanded.

‘He ordered them to get out of his way,' Aphrael replied.

‘Doesn't he realize that they're his enemies?'

‘“Enemy” is a difficult concept for someone like Santheocles,' Ehlana told him. ‘He's never been outside the walls of Cyrga, and I doubt that he's seen more than ten people who weren't Cyrgai in his entire life. The Cyrgai obey him automatically, so he hasn't had much experience with open hostility.'

Ekatas came puffing up the stairs behind Santheocles. His eyes were wide with shock and his wrinkled face ashen. He spoke sharply to his king, and Santheocles placidly stepped aside. Ekatas drew himself up and began speaking sonorously, his hands moving in the air before him.

‘Stop him!' Bevier cried. ‘He's casting a spell!'

‘He's
trying
to cast a spell,' Aphrael corrected. I think he's in for a nasty surprise.'

The High Priest's voice rose in a long, slow crescendo and he suddenly leveled one arm at Kalten and Mirtai.

Nothing happened.

Ekatas held his empty hand up in front of his face, gaping at it in utter astonishment.

‘Ekatas,' Aphrael called sweetly to him, ‘I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but now that Cyrgon's dead, your spells won't work any more.'

He stared up at her, comprehension and recognition slowly dawning on his face. Then he spun and bolted
through the door on the left side of the landing and slammed it behind him.

Mirtai moved quickly after him. She briefly tried the door, then stepped back and kicked it to pieces.

Kalten advanced on the sneering King of the Cyrgai. Santheocles struck a heroic pose, his oversized shield extended, his sword raised, and his head held high.

‘He's no match for Kalten,' Bevier said. ‘Why doesn't he run?'

‘He doth believe himself invincible, Sir Bevier,' Xanetia replied. ‘He hath slain many of his own soldiers on the practice-field, and thus considers himself the paramount warrior in all the world. In truth, however, his subordinates would not strike back or even defend themselves, because he was their king.'

Kalten, grim-faced and vengeful, fell on the feeble-minded monarch like an avalanche. The face of Santheocles was filled with shock and outrage as, for the first time in his life, someone actually raised a weapon against him.

It was a short, ugly fight, and the outcome was quite predictable. Kalten battered down the oversized shield, parried a couple of stiffly formal swings at his head and then buried his sword up to the hilt in the precise center of the burnished breastplate. Santheocles stared at him in sheer astonishment. Then he sighed, toppled backward off the blade, and clattered limply back down the stairs.

‘Yes!'
Ehlana exulted in a savage voice as the most offensive of her persecutors died.

From beyond the splintered door came a long, despairing scream fading horribly away, and Mirtai emerged with an expression of bleak satisfaction.

‘What did you do to him?' Kalten asked curiously.

‘I defenestrated him,' she replied with a shrug.

‘Mirtai!'
he gasped. ‘That's
awful!'

She gave him a baffled look. ‘What are you talking about?'

‘That's a
terrible
thing to do to a man!'

‘Throw him out of a window? I can think of much worse things to do to somebody.'

‘Is
that
what that word means?'

‘Of course. Stragen used to talk about it back in Matherion.'

‘Oh.' Kalten flushed slightly.

‘What did you think it meant?'

‘Ah – never mind, Mirtai. Just forget I said anything.'

‘You must have thought it meant
something.'

‘Can we just drop it? I misunderstood, that's all.' He looked up at the others. ‘Let's go on down,' he suggested. I don't think there'll be anybody else in our way.'

Ehlana suddenly burst into tears. I
can't!'
she wailed. ‘I can't face Sparhawk like this!' She put one hand on the wimple that covered her violated scalp.

‘Are you still worrying about that?' Aphrael asked.

‘I look so
awful!'

Aphrael rolled her eyes upward. ‘Let's go into that room,' she suggested. ‘I'll fix it for you – if it's so important.'

‘Could you?' Ehlana asked eagerly.

‘Of course.' The Child Goddess squinted at her. ‘Would you like to have me change the color?' she asked. ‘Or maybe make it curly?'

The Queen pursed her lips. ‘Why don't we talk about that a little?' she said.

The Cynesgans who manned the outer wall of the Hidden City were not particularly good troops in the first place, and when the Trolls came leaping out of No-Time to scramble up the walls toward them, they broke and ran.

‘Did you tell the Trolls to open the gates for us?' Vanion asked Ulath.

‘Yes, my Lord,' the Genidian replied, ‘but it might be a little while before they remember. They're hungry right now. They'll eat breakfast first.'

‘We
have
to get inside, Ulath,' Sephrenia said urgently. ‘We have to protect the slave-pens.'

‘Oh, Lord,' he said. I forgot about that. The Trolls won't be able to distinguish slaves from Cynesgans.'

‘I'll go have a look,' Khalad volunteered. He swung down from his horse and ran forward to the massively timbered gates. After a couple of moments he came back. ‘It's no particular problem, Lady Sephrenia,' he reported. ‘Those gates would fall apart if you sneezed on them.'

‘What?'

The timbers are very old, my Lady, and they're riddled with dry-rot. With your permission, Lord Vanion, I'll take some men and rig up a battering-ram. We'll knock down the gate so that we can get inside.'

‘Of course,' Vanion replied.

‘Come along then, Berit,' Khalad told his friend.

‘That young man always manages to make me feel inadequate,' Vanion muttered as they watched the pair ride back to rejoin the knights massed some yards to the rear.

‘As I remember, his father had the same effect on you,' Sephrenia said.

Kring came galloping back around the wall. ‘Friend Bergsten's preparing to assault the north gate,' he reported.

‘Send word to him to be careful, friend Kring,' Betuana advised. ‘The Trolls are already inside the city – and they're hungry. It might be better if he delayed his attack just a little.'

Kring nodded his agreement. ‘Working with Trolls
changes the complexion of things, doesn't it, Betuana-Queen? They're very good allies in a fight, but you don't want to let them get hungry.'

About ten minutes later, Khalad and a few dozen knights dragged a large log into place before the gate, suspended it on ropes attached to several makeshift tripods, and began to pound on the rotting timbers. The gate shuddered out billows of powdery red dust and began to crumble and fall apart.

‘Let's go!' Vanion called tersely to his oddly assorted army and led the way into the city. At Sephrenia's insistence, the knights went straight to the pens, freed the shackled slaves, and escorted them to safety outside the walls. Then Vanion's force moved directly to the inner wall that protected the steep hill rising in the middle of Cyrga.

‘How long is that likely to last, Sir Ulath?' Vanion said, gesturing toward a cluster of ravening Trolls.

‘It's a little hard to say, Lord Vanion,' Ulath replied. I don't think we'll get much co-operation from them as long as there are still Cynesgans running up and down the streets here in the outer city, though.'

‘Maybe it's just as well,' Vanion decided. ‘I think
we
want to get to Sparhawk and the others before the Trolls do.' He looked around. ‘Khalad,' he called, ‘tell your men to drag that battering ram up here. Let's pound down the gate to the inner city and go find Sparhawk.'

‘Yes, my Lord,' Khalad replied.

The gates to the inner wall were more substantial, and Khalad's ram was pounding out great booming sounds when Patriarch Bergsten came riding along the wall, accompanied by the veteran Pandion, Sir Heldin, a Peloi whom Vanion did not recognize, and a tall, lithe Atan girl. Vanion was a bit startled to see that the Styric God Setras was also with them. ‘What do you think you're doing, Vanion?' Bergsten roared.

‘Knocking down this gate, your Grace,' Vanion replied.

That's not what I'm talking about. What in God's name possessed you to let the Trolls make the initial assault?'

‘It wasn't really a question of “let”, your Grace. They didn't exactly ask for permission.'

‘We've got absolute chaos here in the outer city. My knights can't concentrate on this inner wall because they keep running into Trolls. They're in a feeding-frenzy, you know. Right now they'll eat anything that moves.'

‘Must you?' Sephrenia murmured with a shudder.

‘Hello, Sephrenia,' Bergsten said. ‘You're looking well. How much longer are you going to be with this gate, Vanion? Let's get our people into the inner city where all we have to worry about are the Cyrgai. Your allies are making my men very nervous.' He looked up at the top of the inner wall, sharply outlined against the dawn sky. ‘I thought the Cyrgai were supposed to be soldiers. Why aren't they manning this wall?'