The Hidden City

  ‘Klæl was ever uncertain of the strength of his wings,’ Bhelliom observed calmly. ‘He would come to join battle with me, but he fears the height of the wall. Thus he prepares a stair for himself.’

  Then with a booming like that of the earthquake which had spawned it, a mile or more of the escarpment toppled ponderously outward and crashed into the forest, piling rubble higher and higher against the foot of the cliff.

  The enormous being continued to savage the top of the cliff, spilling more and more rubble down to form a steep causeway reaching up and up to the top of the wall.

  And then the thing called Klæl vanished, and a shrieking wind swept the face of the escarpment, whipping away the boiling clouds of dust the landslide had raised.

  There was another sound as well. Sparhawk turned quickly. The Trolls had fallen to their faces, moaning in terror.

  ‘We’ve always known about him,’ Aphrael said pensively. ‘We used to frighten ourselves by telling stories about him. There’s a certain perverse pleasure in making one’s own flesh crawl. I don’t think I ever really admitted to myself that he actually existed.’

  ‘Exactly what is he?’ Bevier asked her.

  ‘Evil.’ She shrugged. ‘We’re supposed to be the essence of good – at least that’s what we tell ourselves. Klæl is the opposite. He’s our way of explaining the existence of evil. If we didn’t have Klæl, we’d have to accept the responsibility for evil ourselves, and we’re a little too fond of ourselves to do that.’

  Then this Klæl is the King of Hell?’ Bevier asked.

  ‘Well, sort of. Hell isn’t a place, though. It’s a state of mind. The story has it that when the Elder Gods – Azash and the others – emerged, they found Klæl already here. They wanted the world for themselves, and he was in their way. After several of them had tried individually to get rid of him and got themselves obliterated, they banded together and cast him out.’

  ‘Where did he come from? Originally, I mean?’ Bevier pressed. Bevier was very much caught up in first causes.

  ‘How in the world should I know? I wasn’t there. Ask Bhelliom.’

  ‘I’m not so much interested in where this Klæl came from as I am in what kinds of things it can do,’ Sparhawk said. He took Bhelliom out of the pouch at his waist. ‘Blue Rose,’ he said, I do think we must talk concerning Klæl.’

  ‘It might be well, Anakha,’ the jewel responded, once again taking control of Vanion.

  ‘Where did he – or it – originate?’

  ‘Klæl did not originate, Anakha. Even as I, Klæl hath always been.’

  ‘What is it – he?’

  ‘Necessary. I would not offend thee, Anakha, but the necessity of Klæl is beyond thine ability to comprehend. The Child Goddess hath explained Klæl sufficiently -within her capabilities.’

  ‘Well, really!’ Aphrael spluttered.

  A faint smile touched Vanion’s lips. ‘Be not wroth with me, Aphrael. I do love thee still – despite thy limitations. Thou art young, and age shall bring thee wisdom and understanding.’

  This is not going well, Blue Rose,’ Sephrenia warned the stone.

  ‘Ah, well,’ Bhelliom sighed. ‘Let us then to work. Klæl was, in fact, cast out by the Elder Gods, as Aphrael hath told thee – although the spirit of Klæl, even as my spirit, doth linger in the very rocks of this world – as in all others which I have made. Moreover, what the Elder Gods could do, they could also undo, and the spell which hath returned Klæl was implicit in the spell which did cast Klæl out. Clearly, some mortal conversant with the spells of the Elder Gods hath reversed the spell of casting out, and Klæl hath returned.’

  ‘Can he – or it – be destroyed?’

  ‘It is not “he” of which we speak, nor do we speak of some “it”. We speak of Klæl. But nay, Anakha, Klæl cannot be destroyed – no more than can I. Klæl is eternal.’

  Sparhawk’s heart sank. ‘I think we’re in trouble,’ he muttered to his friends.

  ‘The fault is in some measure mine. So caught up was I in the birth of this latest child of mine that mine attention did stray from needful duties. It is my wont to cast Klæl out at a certain point in the making of a new world. This particular child did so delight me, however, that I delayed the casting out. Then it was that I did encounter the red dust which did imprison me, and the duty to cast Klæl out did devolve upon the Elder Gods. The casting-out was made imperfect by reason of their imperfection, and thus it was possible for Klæl to be returned.’

  ‘By Cyrgon?’ Sparhawk asked bleakly.

  ‘The spell of casting out – and returning – is Styric. Cyrgon could not utter it.’

  ‘Cyzada then,’ Sephrenia guessed. ‘He might very well have known the spell. I don’t think he’d have used it willingly, though.’

  ‘Cyrgon probably forced him to use it, little mother,’ Kalten said. ‘Things haven’t been going very well for Cyrgon and Zalasta lately.’

  ‘But to call Klæl!’ Aphrael shuddered.

  ‘Desperate people do desperate things,’ Kalten shrugged. ‘So do desperate Gods, I suppose.’

  ‘What do we do, Blue Rose?’ Sparhawk asked. ‘About Klæl, I mean to say?’

  ‘Thou canst do nothing, Anakha. Thou didst well when thou didst meet Azash, and doubtless will do well again in thy dispute with Cyrgon. Thou wouldst be powerless against Klæl, however.’

  ‘We’re doomed then.’ Sparhawk suddenly felt totally crushed.

  ‘Doomed? Of course thou art not doomed. Why art thou so easily downcast and made disconsolate, my friend? I did not make thee to confront Klæl. That is my duty. Klæl will trouble us in some measure, as is Klæl’s wont. Then, as is our custom, Klæl and I will meet.’

  ‘And thou wilt once more banish him?’

  ‘That is never certain, Anakha. I do assure thee, however, that I will strive to mine utmost to cast Klæl out – even as Klæl will strive to cast me out. The contest between us doth lie in the future, and as I have oft told thee, the future is concealed. I will approach the contest with confidence, however, for doubt doth weaken resolve, and timorous uncertainty doth weigh down the spirit. Battle should be joined with a light heart and joyous demeanor.’

  ‘You can be very sententious sometimes, World-Maker,’ Aphrael said with just a hint of spitefulness.

  ‘Be nice,’ Bhelliom chided mildly.

  ‘Anakha!’ It was Ghworg, the God of Kill. The huge presence came across the frosty meadow, plowing a dark path through the silver-sheathed grass.

  ‘I will hear the words of Ghworg,’ Sparhawk replied.

  ‘Have you summoned Klæl? Is it your thought that Klæl will aid us in causing hurt to Cyrgon? It is not good if you have. Let Klæl go back.’

  ‘It was not my doing, Ghworg. Neither was it the Flower-Gem’s doing. It is our thought that it was Cyrgon who summoned Klæl to cause hurt to us.’

  ‘Can the Flower-Gem cause hurt to Klæl?’

  ‘That is not certain. The might of Klæl is even as the might of the Flower-Gem.’

  The God of Kill squatted on the frozen turf, scratching at his shaggy face with one huge paw. ‘Cyrgon is as nothing, Anakha,’ he rumbled in an almost colloquial form of speech. ‘We can cause hurt to Cyrgon tomorrow – or some time by-and-by. We must cause hurt to Klæl now. We cannot wait for by-and-by.’

  Sparhawk dropped to one knee on the frozen turf. ‘Your words are wise, Ghworg.’

  Ghworg’s lips pulled back in a hideous approximation of a grin. ‘The word you use is not common among us, Anakha. If Khwaj said, “Ghworg is wise”, I would cause hurt to him.’

  ‘I did not say it to cause you anger, Ghworg.’

  ‘You are not a Troll, Anakha. You do not know our ways. We must cause hurt to Klæl so that he will go away. How can we do this?’

  ‘We cannot cause hurt to him. Only the Flower-Gem can make him go away.’

  Ghworg smashed his fist against the frozen ground with a hideous snarl.

  Sparhawk held up one hand. ‘Cy
rgon has called Klæl,’ he said. ‘Klæl has joined Cyrgon to cause hurt to us. Let us cause hurt to Cyrgon now, not by-and-by. If we cause hurt to Cyrgon, he will fear to aid Klæl when the Flower-Gem goes to cause hurt to Klæl and make him go away.’

  Ghworg puzzled his way through that. ‘Your words are good, Anakha,’ he said finally. ‘How might we best cause hurt to Cyrgon now?’

  Sparhawk considered it. ‘The mind of Cyrgon is not like your mind, Ghworg, nor is it like mine. Our minds are direct. Cyrgon’s is guileful. He threw your children against our friends here in the lands of winter to make us come here to fight them. But your children were not his main force.

  ‘Cyrgon’s main force will come from the lands of the sun to attack our friends in the city that shines.’

  ‘I have seen that place. The Child Goddess spoke first with us there.’

  Sparhawk frowned, trying to remember the details of Vanion’s map. ‘There are high places here and to the south,’ he said.

  Ghworg nodded.

  ‘Then, even further south, the high places grow low and then they become flat.’

  ‘I see it,’ Ghworg said. ‘You describe it well, Anakha.’ That startled Sparhawk. Evidently Ghworg could visualize the entire continent.

  ‘In the middle of that flat place is another high place that the man-things call the Tamul Mountains.’

  Ghworg nodded in agreement.

  ‘The main force of Cyrgon’s children will pass that high place to reach the city that shines. The high place will be cool, so your children will not suffer from the sun there.’

  ‘I see which way your thought goes, Anakha,’ Ghworg said. ‘We will take our children to that high place and wait there for Cyrgon’s children. Our children will not eat Aphrael’s children. They will eat Cyrgon’s children instead.’

  ‘That will cause hurt to Cyrgon and his servants, Ghworg.’

  ‘Then we will do it.’ Ghworg turned and pointed toward the landslide. ‘Our children will climb Klæl’s stairway. Then Ghnomb will make time stop. Our children will be in the high place before the sun goes to sleep this night.’ He stood up abruptly. ‘Good hunting,’ he growled, turned and went back to join his fellows and the still terrified Trolls.

  ‘We still have to proceed as if things were normal,’ Vanion told them as they gathered near the fire a couple of hours past noon. The sun, Sparhawk noted, was already going down. ‘Klæl can probably appear at any time and any place. We can’t plan for him – any more than we can plan for a blizzard or a hurricane. If you can’t plan for something, about the only thing you can do is take a few precautions and then ignore it.’

  ‘Well spoken,’ Queen Betuana approved. Betuana and Vanion were getting along well.

  ‘What do we do then, friend Vanion?’ Tikume asked.

  ‘We’re soldiers, friend Tikume,’ Vanion replied. ‘We do what soldiers do. We get ready to fight armies, not Gods. Scarpa’s coming up out of the jungles of Arjuna, and I’d expect another thrust to come out of Cynesga. The Trolls will probably hamper Scarpa, but they can only move out a short way from those mountains in southern Tamul Proper because of the climate. After the initial shock of encountering Trolls, Scarpa will probably try to go around them.’ Vanion consulted his map. ‘We’ll have to have forces in place to respond either to Scarpa or to an army coming out of Cynesga. I’d say that Samar would be the best location.’

  ‘Sarna,’ Betuana disagreed.

  ‘Both,’ Ulath countered. ‘Forces in Samar could cover everything from the southern edge of the Atan Mountains to the Sea of Arjuna and be in position to strike eastward to the southern Tamul Mountains if Scarpa evades the Trolls. Forces in Sarna could block the invasion route through the Atan mountains.’

  ‘His point’s well taken,’ Bevier said. ‘It divides our forces, but we don’t have much choice.’

  ‘We could put the knights and the Peloi in Samar and the Atan infantry in Sarna,’ Tynian added. ‘The lower valley of the River Sarna’s ideal for mounted operations, and the mountains around Sarna itself are natural for Atans.’

  ‘Both positions are defensive,’ Engessa objected. ‘Wars aren’t won from defensive positions.’

  Sparhawk and Vanion exchanged a long look. ‘Invade Cynesga?’ Sparhawk asked dubiously.

  ‘Not yet,’ Vanion decided. ‘Let’s wait until the Church Knights get here from Eosia before we do that. When Komier and the others cross into Cynesga from the west, that’s when we’ll want to come at the place from the east. We’ll put Cyrgon in a vice. With that sort of force coming at him from both sides, he can raise every Cyrgai who’s ever lived, and he’ll still lose.’

  ‘Right up until the moment he unleashes Klæl,’ Aphrael added moodily.

  ‘No, Divine One,’ Sparhawk told her. ‘Bhelliom wants Cyrgon to send Klæl against us. If we do it this way, we’ll force the issue in a place and time that we choose. We’ll pick the spot, Cyrgon will unleash Klæl, and I’ll unleash Bhelliom. Then all we have to do is sit back and watch.’

  ‘We’ll go to the top of the wall the same way the Trolls went, Vanion-Preceptor,’ Engessa said the following morning. ‘We can climb as well as they can.’

  ‘It might take us a little longer,’ Tikume added. ‘We’ll have to push boulders out of the way to get our horses up that slope.’

  ‘We will help you, Tikume-Domi,’ Engessa promised.

  ‘That’s it, then,’ Tynian summed up. The Atans and the Peloi will go south from here to take up positions in Sarna and Samar. We’ll take the knights back to the coast, and Sorgi will ferry us back to Matherion. We’ll go overland from there.’

  ‘It’s the ferrying that concerns me,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Sorgi’s going to have to make at least a half-dozen trips.’

  Khalad sighed and rolled his eyes upward.

  ‘I gather you’re going to embarrass me in public again,’ Sparhawk said. ‘What am I overlooking?’

  ‘The rafts, Sparhawk,’ Khalad said in a weary voice. ‘Sorgi’s gathering up the rafts to take them south to the timber markets. He’s going to lash them all together into a long log-boom. Put the knights in the ships, the horses on the boom, and we can all make it to Matherion in one trip.’

  ‘I forgot about the rafts,’ Sparhawk admitted sheepishly.

  That log-boom won’t move very fast,’ Ulath pointed out.

  Xanetia had been listening to their plans intently. She looked at Khalad and spoke diffidently, almost shyly. ‘Might a steady wind behind thy logs assist thee, young Master?’ Xanetia asked Khalad.

  ‘It would indeed, Anarae,’ Khalad said enthusiastically. ‘We can weave rough sails out of tree-limbs.’

  ‘Won’t Cyrgon – or Klæl – feel you raising a breeze, dear sister?’ Sephrenia asked.

  ‘Cyrgon cannot detect Delphaeic magic, Sephrenia,’ Xanetia replied. ‘Anakha can ask Bhelliom whether Klæl is similarly unaware.’

  ‘How did you manage that?’ Aphrael asked curiously.

  Xanetia looked slightly embarrassed. ‘It was to hide from thee and thy kindred, Divine Aphrael. When Eda-emus did curse us, he did so arrange his curse that our magic would be hidden from our enemies – for thus did we view thee at that time. Doth that offend thee, Divine One?’

  ‘Not under these circumstances, Anarae,’ Flute replied, swarming up into Xanetia’s arms and kissing her soundly.

  Chapter 2

  The log-boom Captain Sorgi’s sailors had constructed from the rafts was a quarter of a mile long and a hundred feet wide. Most of it was taken up by the huge corral. It wallowed and wobbled its way south under threatening skies, and it was frequently raked by stinging sleet-squalls. The weather was bitterly cold, and the young knights who manned the raft were bundled to the ears in furs and spent most of their time huddled in the dubious shelter of the flapping tents.

  ‘It’s all in attention to detail, Berit,’ Khalad said as he tied off the rope holding the starboard end of one of their makeshift sails in place. ‘That’s all that work
really is – details.’ He squinted along the ice-covered line of what was really much more like a snow-fence than a sail. ‘Sparhawk looks at the grand plan and leaves the details to others. It’s a good thing, really, because he’s a hopeless incompetent when it comes to little things and real work.’

  ‘Khalad!’ Berit was actually shocked.

  ‘Have you ever seen him try to use tools? That was something our father used to tell us over and over: “Don’t ever let Sparhawk pick up a tool.” Kalten’s fairly good with his hands, but Sparhawk’s hopeless. If you hand him anything associated with honest work, he’ll hurt himself with it.’ Khalad’s head came up sharply, and he swore.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Didn’t you feel it? The port-side tow-ropes just went slack. Let’s go wake up those sailors. We don’t want this big cow turning broadside on us again.’ The two fur-clad young men started across the icy collection of lashed-together rafts, skirting the huge corral where the horses huddled together in the bitterly cold breeze coming from astern.

  The idea of making a log-boom out of the rafts was very good in theory, but the problems of steering proved to be far more complex than either Sorgi or Khalad had anticipated. Khalad’s thickly woven fences of evergreen boughs acted well enough as sails, moving the sheer dead weight of the boom steadily southward ahead of Xanetia’s breeze. Sorgi’s ships were supposed to provide steerageway by towing the boom, and that was where the problems cropped up. No two ships ever move at exactly the same rate of speed, even when propelled by the same wind. Thus, the fifty ships ahead and the twenty-five strung out along each side of the boom had to be almost constantly fine-tuned to keep the huge raft moving in the right general direction. As long as everybody paid very close attention, all went well. Two days south of Bhelliom’s wall, however, a number of things had gone wrong all at once, and the log-boom had swung round sideways. No amount of effort had been able to straighten it out, and so they had been obliged to take it apart and reassemble it – back-breaking labor in the bitter cold. Nobody wanted to go through that again.