The Hidden City

  She tried to struggle, clawing at his face and eyes. She even felt a momentary sense of triumph when she seized his beard and saw him wince with pain. She jerked at his beard, sawing his face this way and that as she called out for help, but then he jerked free, roughly shoving her back from him. She stumbled back and half-fell over a chair, and that was what ultimately defeated her. Even as she struggled to regain her feet, he caught her by the hair, and she knew that she was lost. Despairing, she drew Vanion’s face from her memory, filling her eyes and heart with his features even as she attempted again to claw at Zalasta’s eyes.

  And then he drove the dagger directly into her breast and wrenched it free again.

  She cried out, falling back and clutching at the wound, feeling the blood spurting out between her fingers.

  He caught her in his arms. ‘I love you, Sephrenia,’ he said in a broken voice as the light faded from her eyes.

  PART TWO

  Natayos

  Chapter 11

  ‘I can’t find anybody willing to stay in one place long enough for me to ask him any questions,’ Komier growled when he returned late one cloudy afternoon with his scouts. He looked sourly back across the empty, winter-fallow fields all neatly bordered with low stone walls, carefully shifting his broken right arm. ‘These Astellian serfs all take one look at us and bolt for the woods like frightened deer.’

  ‘What’s ahead?’ Darellon asked him. Darellon’s helmet hung from his saddlebow, one side so crushed in that it no longer fit his bandaged head. His eyes were unfocused, and his bandage was blood-soaked.

  Komier took out his map and studied it. ‘We’re coming to the River Astel,’ he replied. ‘We saw a city over on the other side – Darsas, most likely. I couldn’t catch anybody to tell me for sure, though. I’m not the prettiest fellow in the world, but I’ve never had people flee from me in terror like this before.’

  ‘Emban warned us about that,’ Bergsten said. ‘The countryside’s crawling with agitators. They’re telling the serfs that we’ve all got horns and tails and that we’re coming here to burn down their churches and ram assorted heresies down their throats at sword-point. This fellow called Sabre seems to be the one behind it all.’

  ‘He’s the one I want,’ Komier muttered darkly. I think I’ll run him down and set him up as the centerpiece in a bonfire.’

  ‘Let’s not stir up the locals any more than they already are, Komier,’ Darellon cautioned. ‘We’re not in any condition for confrontations at the moment.’ He glanced back at the battered column and the long string of wagons bearing the gravely wounded.

  ‘Did you see any signs of organized resistance?’ Heldin asked Komier.

  ‘Not yet. I expect we’ll find out how things really stand when we get to Darsas. If the bridge across the Astel’s been torn down and the tops of the city walls are lined with archers, we’ll know that Sabre’s message of peace and goodwill’s reached the people in authority.’ The Genidian Preceptor’s face darkened, and he squared his shoulders. ‘That’s all right. I’ve fought my way into towns before, so it won’t be a new experience.’

  ‘You’ve already managed to get Abriel and about a third of the Church Knights killed, Komier,’ Bergsten told him pointedly. ‘I’d say that your place in history’s secure. Let’s try a bit of negotiation before we start battering down gates and burning houses.’

  ‘You’ve had a clever mouth ever since we were novices, Bergsten. I should have done something about it before you put on that cassock.’

  Bergsten hefted his war-axe a couple of times. I can take my cassock off any time it suits you, old friend,’ he offered.

  ‘You’re getting side-tracked, gentlemen,’ Darellon said, his speech slightly slurred. ‘Our wounded need attention. This isn’t the time to pick fights – either with the local population or with each other. I think the four of us should ride on ahead under a flag of truce and find out which way the wind’s blowing before we start building siege-engines.’

  ‘Am I hearing the voice of reason here?’ Heldin rumbled mildly.

  They tied a gleaming white Cyrinic cape to Sir Heldin’s lance and rode ahead through the cheerless afternoon to the west bank of the River Astel.

  The city beyond the river was clearly Elene, an ancient town with soaring towers and spires. It stood proudly and solidly on the far shore of the river under its snapping pennons of red and blue and gold proclaiming, or so it seemed, that it had always been there and always would be. It had high, thick walls and massive, closed gates. The bridge across the Astel was blocked by towering, bronze-faced warriors wearing minimal armor and carrying very unpleasant-looking weapons. ‘Atans,’ Sir Heldin identified them. ‘We definitely don’t want to fight those people.’

  The ranks of bleak-faced infantry parted, and an ancient, wrinkled Tamul in a gold-colored mantle flanked by a vastly-bearded Astellian clergyman all in black came forward to meet them. ‘Well-met, Sir Knights,’ the hairless old Tamul greeted the armored men in a dry, dusty voice. ‘King Alberen’s a trifle curious as to your intentions. We don’t see Church Knights in this part of the world very often.’

  ‘You would be Ambassador Fontan,’ Bergsten said. ‘Emban described you very well.’

  ‘I thought he had better manners,’ Fontan murmured.

  Bergsten flashed him a brief smile. ‘You might want to send word back to the city, your Excellency. Assure His Majesty that our intentions are entirely peaceful.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear that.’

  ‘Emban and Sir Tynian came back to Chyrellos a couple months ago,’ Bergsten continued. ‘Sparhawk sent word that things were getting out of hand here. Dolmant dispatched us to help restore order.’ The huge Patriarch made a sour face. ‘We didn’t get off to a very good start, I’m afraid. We had an unfortunate encounter near Basne and we have many wounded in need of medical attention.’

  ‘I’ll send word to the nearby monasteries, Sir Knight,’ the bearded clergyman standing at Fontan’s elbow offered.

  ‘Bergsten’s not a knight any more, your Reverence,’ Komier corrected him. ‘He used to be, but God had other plans for him. He’s a Patriarch of the Church now. He prays well enough, I suppose, but we haven’t been able to get his axe away from him yet.’

  ‘My manners must be slipping,’ Fontan apologized. ‘My friend here is Archimandrite Monsel, the duly anointed head of the Church of Astel.’

  ‘Your Grace.’ Bergsten inclined his head politely.

  ‘Your Grace,’ Monsel replied, looking curiously at the warlike clergyman. ‘Your friend Emban and I had some very stimulating discussions about our doctrinal differences. You and I might want to continue those, but let’s see to your wounded first. How many injured men do you have?’

  ‘Twenty thousand or so, your Grace,’ Komier answered bleakly. ‘It’s a little hard to keep an exact count. A few score die on us every hour or so.’

  ‘What in God’s name did you encounter up in those mountains?’ Monsel gasped.

  ‘The King of Hell, as closely as we can determine, your Grace,’ Darellon replied. ‘We left thirty thousand dead on the field – mostly Cyrinics. Lord Abriel, their Preceptor, led the charge, and his knights followed closely behind him. They were fully engaged before they realized what they were up against.’ He sighed. ‘Abriel was nearing seventy, and he seemed to think he was leading his last charge.’

  ‘He was right about that,’ Komier grunted sourly. ‘There wasn’t enough of him left to bury.’

  ‘He died well, though,’ Heldin added. ‘Do you have any fast messengers available, your Excellency? Sparhawk and Vanion are counting on us to reach Matherion as soon as possible, so we’d probably better let them know that we’re going to be delayed.’

  * * *

  ‘His name’s Valash,’ Stragen told Sparhawk and Talen as the three of them, still wearing their tar-smeared sailor’s smocks, stepped out of the noisy, torch-lit street into a dark, foul-smelling alley. ‘He and his two friends a
re Dacites from Verel.’

  ‘Have you been able to find out who they’re working for?’ Sparhawk asked him as they stopped to let their eyes adjust to the darkness and their noses to the smell. The alleys of Beresa were particularly unpleasant.

  ‘I heard one of them mention Ogerajin,’ Stragen replied. ‘It makes sense, I guess. Ogerajin and Zalasta seem to be old friends.’

  ‘I thought Ogerajin’s brains were rotting out,’ Talen objected.

  ‘Maybe he has lucid moments. It doesn’t really matter who sent them, though. While they’re here, they’re reporting to Krager. As closely as I can make out, they’ve been sent here to assess the damage we did to them during the Harvest Festival and to pick up any bits and pieces of information that fall to hand. They’ve got money, but they don’t want to turn much of it loose. They’re in this strictly for gain – and for the chance to seem important.’

  ‘Does Krager come here to get their reports?’ Sparhawk asked.

  ‘He hasn’t recently. Valash communicates with him by messenger. These three Dacites are seriously out of their depth here. They want to hold on to as much of the money Ogerajin gave them as they can, but they don’t want to miss anything important. They aren’t professionals by any stretch of the imagination. They spend most of their time trying to figure out some way to get information without paying for it.’

  ‘A swindler’s dream,’ Talen noted. ‘What did they do for a living back in Verel?’

  ‘They sold children to people whose tastes run in that direction,’ Stragen replied in a disgusted tone. ‘As I understand it, Ogerajin used to be one of their best customers.’

  ‘That puts them right at the bottom, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Probably even lower than that.’ Stragen glanced around to make sure they were alone. ‘Valash wants to meet you two.’ Stragen pointed toward the end of the alley. ‘He’s just up those stairs. He’s renting a corner in the loft from a fellow who deals in stolen goods.’

  Talen smiled a rather nasty little smile. ‘If these Dacites happened to pass too much erroneous information and false rumors on to Krager, he might just decide that they’ve outlived their usefulness, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Probably,’ Stragen shrugged.

  ‘That sort of stirs my creativity.’

  ‘Oh? Why’s that?’

  ‘I don’t like people who sell children. It’s a personal sort of thing. Let’s go meet this Valash. I’d like to find out if he’s as gullible as you say.’

  They climbed a rickety outside stairway to a door that was flimsy and patched and showed some signs of having been kicked in a few times. The loft beyond the door was incredibly cluttered with all manner of worn clothing, battered furniture, and dented kitchen utensils. There were even broken farm tools gathering dust in the corners. ‘Some people will steal anything,’ Talen sniffed.

  A lone candle guttered on the far side of the room, and a bony Elene sat drowsing at a table by its uncertain light. He wore a short, green brocade jacket of a Daconian cut, and his sparse, mud-colored hair stood almost straight up, looking much like a thin, dirty halo round his gaunt head. As they crossed the loft toward him, he stirred himself and quickly picked up some papers and began to shuffle them in a self-important manner. He looked up with feigned impatience as they approached. ‘You’re late, Vymer,’ he accused in a high-pitched, nasal voice.

  ‘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.’