The Hidden City

  Bhlokw came shambling back up the street with a mournful expression on his ape-like face. ‘There are no dogs here,’ he reported in Trollish.

  ‘Soldiers don’t usually keep dogs, Bhlokw,’ Tynian explained.

  ‘I have hunger, Tin-in. Would the man-things here miss one of their herd – a small one?’

  ‘We might have a problem here,’ Tynian muttered to Ulath. ‘It’s definitely in our best interests to keep our friend here well-fed.’

  Ulath scratched at his now clean-shaven cheek. ‘We can’t just turn him loose,’ he noted. ‘He’ll attract attention if he starts grabbing people and jerking them into these broken moments.’

  ‘He’s invisible, Ulath.’

  ‘Yes, but if some Arjuni suddenly vanishes and his bones start getting tossed back out of nowhere, it’s bound to attract attention.’ He turned back to the Troll. ‘It is our thought that it would not be good for you to kill and eat the man-things here, Bhlokw. We hunt thought here, and if you kill and eat the man-things, you will frighten the thought away.’

  ‘I do not like this hunting of thought, U-lat,’ Bhlokw complained. ‘It makes things not-simple.’

  ‘The forest is near, Bhlokw,’ Tynian said. ‘There must be many good-to-eat things there.’

  ‘I am not an Ogre, Tin-in,’ Bhlokw protested in a slightly offended tone. ‘I do not eat trees.’

  ‘There should be creatures that are good-to-eat among the trees, Bhlokw,’ Ulath said. ‘That is what Tin-in was trying to say. It was not his thought to insult you.’

  Bhlokw glowered at Tynian for a moment. ‘I will go hunt now,’ he said abruptly. Then he turned and shambled off.

  ‘You have to be careful, Tynian,’ Ulath warned his friend. ‘If you want to get into a fight almost immediately, all you have to do is suggest to a Troll that he might be an Ogre.’

  ‘They’re actually prejudiced?’ Tynian asked in amazement.

  ‘You wouldn’t believe how prejudiced,’ Ulath replied. ‘Trolls and Ogres have hated each other since the beginning of time.’

  ‘I thought that prejudice was a human failing.’

  ‘Some things are just too good to stay private, I guess. Let’s follow Sparhawk and let him know that we’re here. He might have something for us to do.’

  They trailed along behind the beer caravan winding through the cleared streets toward that part of Natayos that was still choked in brush and vines. The wagons trundled along a recently cleared street and then went around behind a canvas-roofed building identified by a crudely lettered sign that read ‘Senga’s’.

  ‘Trust Kalten to get close to the beer,’ Tynian said.

  ‘Truly,’ Ulath agreed. ‘Wait here. I’ll go let Sparhawk know that we’re in Natayos.’ He walked over to where Sparhawk, Kalten, and Bevier, looking strange with their altered features, stood off to one side while Senga supervised the unloading of the barrels. ‘Ramshorn,’ he said quietly. ‘Don’t get excited and start looking around,’ he added. ‘You won’t be able to see me.’

  ‘Ulath?’ Kalten asked incredulously.

  ‘Right. Tynian, Bhlokw and I got here yesterday. We’ve been nosing around.’

  ‘How have you managed to become invisible?’ the patch-eyed Bevier asked.

  ‘We aren’t, actually. Ghnomb’s breaking the seconds into two pieces. We’re only present during the smaller piece. That’s why you can’t see us.’

  ‘But you can see us!’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ulath, that’s logically inconsistent.’

  ‘I know, but Ghnomb believes that it works, and I guess his belief is strong enough to override logic. Tynian and I are here, and nobody can see us. Is there anything you want us to do?’

  ‘Can you get into that building near the gate?’ Sparhawk asked quickly. ‘The one with the barred windows?’

  ‘Not a chance. We already looked into the possibility. Too many guards on the doors. Bhlokw even tried going in through the roof, but it’s all sealed up.’

  ‘That’s my wife in there, Ulath!’ Sparhawk exclaimed. ‘Are you saying that you tried to send a Troll into the same building with her?’

  ‘Bhlokw wouldn’t have hurt her, Sparhawk – frightened her a little, maybe, but he wouldn’t have hurt her. We sort of thought he might be able to go in through the roof, pick Ehlana and Alean up, and carry them out.’ Ulath paused. ‘It wasn’t really our idea, Sparhawk. Bhlokw volunteered – well, actually he didn’t even volunteer. He just started climbing up the wall before we could stop him. He said, “I will go get them. I will bring Anakha’s mate and her friend out so that we can kill all these children of Cyrgon and eat them.” Bhlokw’s a little elemental, but his heart’s in the right place. I hate to admit it, but I’m actually starting to like him.’

  Kalten looked around nervously. ‘Where is he now?’ he asked.

  ‘He’s out hunting. When we were knocking around those cities by the lake, we persuaded him not to eat people. We got him started on dogs instead. He really likes them, but there aren’t any dogs here in Natayos, so he’s out in the woods – probably chasing elephants or something.’ Then something flickered at the corner of Ulath’s eye. ‘What in God’s name is that?’ he exclaimed.

  ‘What?’ Kalten asked, looking around in bafflement.

  ‘There’s somebody made out of rainbows coming around the side of the building!’ Ulath gaped at the clearly defined shape approaching. The many-colored light was dazzling.

  ‘That’s Xanetia,’ Sparhawk explained. ‘Can you actually see her?’

  ‘Are you saying that you can’t?’

  ‘She’s invisible, Ulath.’

  ‘Not to me, she isn’t.’

  ‘It must have something to do with the peculiar time you’re in, my friend,’ Bevier suggested. ‘You’d better let her know that you can see her. It might be important some day.’

  The shimmering rainbow stopped a few paces away. ‘Anakha,’ Xanetia said softly.

  ‘I hear thee, Anarae,’ Sparhawk replied.

  ‘It pains me to tell thee that I have failed,’ she confessed. ‘The mind of Scarpa is so twisted that I cannot wring coherence from his thought. I did gently probe the minds of some of his followers, however, and I must sadly advise thee that thy Queen is no longer here in Natayos. When our enemies did discover the subterfuge involving young Sir Berit, Zalasta did spirit thy wife and her handmaiden away under cover of darkness. I shall endeavor to glean their destination from the thoughts of others here, an it please thee.’

  Ulath’s heart twisted with sympathy at the look of sudden despair that came over Sparhawk’s face.

  They ran easily in their endless regiments, tall and lightly armored, with their bronze limbs glowing in the cool grey light. The towering King Androl ran smoothly at the front of his army. It was good to be on the move again, and the prospect of battle was exhilarating. Battle was meaningful, and one could actually see results. The absence of his wife had thrust a thousand petty administrative chores on Androl’s unprepared shoulders. It was so frustrating to make decisions about things he didn’t really understand and not to see any immediate results that would have told him whether or not his decisions had been correct. Once again the King of Atan thanked his God for giving him Betuana for his wife. They made a good team, actually. The Queen was very skilled with details. Her mind was quick, and she could pick out subtleties and nuances that frequently escaped her husband. Androl, on the other hand, was made for action. He gladly let his wife make all the tiresome decisions, and then, when it was all settled and they knew what they were going to do, he took charge of carrying her decisions out. It was better that way, actually. The King of Atan was fully aware of his limitations, and he knew that his wife forgave him when he occasionally overlooked something. He hoped that he didn’t disappoint her too much.

  Her suggestion – she never gave him orders – that he take the bulk of their people to the south end of Lake Sarna in preparation for a grand battle at Tosa was exactly
the sort of thing Androl truly loved. Here was action, simple and uncomplicated. The troublesome decisions had all been made, the enemy had been identified, and all the boring details had been swept out of the way. He smiled as he led his army into the last outcropping of mountains some fifty leagues to the southeast of Tualas. Betuana’s message had hinted that the battle at Tosa would be a titanic one, a grand clash at arms with struggling armies stretching for miles and the ring of sword against sword reaching to the skies. He would make her proud of him.

  The route through the outcropping mountains led up a long ridge-line, through a narrow notch and then down into the deep gorge of a turbulent stream that had gnawed at the rock for eons.

  King Androl was breathing a bit heavily when he crested the ridge-line and led his forces through the notch. The wasted hours spent conferring with Ambassador Norkan had taken off Androl’s edge. A warrior should never permit himself to be lured away from the practice-field or the exercise yard. He picked up the pace as he led his army down into the narrow gorge, running smoothly along the south bank of the rushing mountain river. If he was out of shape, his soldiers probably were as well. He hoped that he could find a suitable place for an encampment at Lake Sarna, a proper encampment with enough space for training and practice and those necessary calisthenics that honed warriors to the peak of fitness. Androl was sublimely confident that any opposing force could be overcome if only his army were fully trained and fit.

  ‘Androl-King!’ General Pemaas shouted over the sound of the turbulent stream. ‘Look!’

  ‘Where?’ Androl demanded, half-turning and reaching for his sword.

  ‘At the top of the gorge – on the right!’

  The Atan King craned his neck to peer up the sheer cliff-face to the rocky brink high above.

  The King of Atan had seen many things in his life, but nothing to compare with the vast, monstrous form rearing suddenly above them on the rim of the gorge.

  The thing was glossy black, like polished leather, and it had enormously out-spreading wings, jointed and batlike. Its wedge-shaped head was accentuated by blazing eye-slits and a gaping mouth that dripped flame.

  King Androl considered it. The problem, of course, was the fact that the towering creature was at the top of the gorge while he stood at the bottom. He could turn and retrace his steps, running back up the gorge to the notch and scrambling around the rocks to reach the rim; but that would give the thing plenty of opportunity to run away, and then he would have to chase it down in order to kill it. In his present less-than-perfect condition, that would be very tedious. He could always climb up the cliff, but that would still take time, and the creature might very well see him coming and try to flee.

  Then, amazingly, the large being at the top of the gorge provided the solution. It raised its enormous arms and began to slash at the top of the cliff with what appeared to be fire of some kind.

  Androl smiled as the cliff-face began to topple outward, tumbling and roaring down into the gorge. The silly beast was accommodatingly providing the means for its own destruction. How could it be so stupid?

  King Androl adroitly dodged a tumbling, house-sized boulder, carefully assessing the rapidly growing slope of rubble piling up at the base of the cliff.

  The beast actually intended to attack! Androl laughed with delight. The creature was stupid beyond imagining, but he did have to give it credit for courage – foolish courage, of course, but courage nonetheless. All the universe knew that Androl of Atan was invincible, and yet this poor dumb brute meant to pit its puny strength against the greatest warrior since the beginning of time.

  Androl looked speculatively at the steep, growing slope of rubble, ignoring the cries of those of his soldiers not nimble enough to avoid being crushed in the avalanche rumbling down upon them. Almost high enough now. Just a few more feet.

  And then he judged that the steep slope had grown high enough to give him access to the stupid creature roaring and flapping its wings high above. He dodged another boulder and began his rush, scrambling, dodging, leaping, as he swiftly mounted toward the doomed beast above him.

  When he was almost to the top, he paused, drew his sword, and set himself.

  And then with a savage war-cry he rushed up the remaining slope, ignoring the momentary flicker of sympathy he felt for the brave, misguided creature he was about to kill.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ a burly Dacite wearing a shabby uniform tunic and holding a long pike demanded as Sparhawk and Kalten pulled the wobbly cart with two large barrels in it around the corner of the building.

  ‘We’ve got a delivery from Senga for Master Krager,’ Kalten replied.

  ‘Anybody could say that.’

  ‘Go ask him,’ Kalten suggested.

  ‘I wouldn’t want to disturb him.’

  ‘Then you’d better let us past. He’s been waiting for this wine for quite some time now. If you keep us from delivering it, he’ll really be disturbed. He might even be disturbed enough to take the matter to Lord Scarpa.’

  The guard’s face grew apprehensive. ‘Wait here,’ he said, then turned and went along the back of the building to the heavy door.

  ‘I’ll stay in the background when we get inside,’ Sparhawk quietly told his friend. ‘If he asks, just tell him that I’m a strong back you commandeered to help pull the cart.’

  Kalten nodded.

  ‘Are you here, Anarae?’ Sparhawk asked, looking around in spite of the fact that he knew he wouldn’t be able to see her.

  ‘Right at thy side, Anakha,’ her voice replied softly.

  ‘We’ll keep him talking for as long as we can. He’ll probably be a little drunk. Will that make it difficult for you?’

  ‘I have shared the thoughts of this Krager before,’ she told him. ‘He is coherent unless he is far gone with drink. If it be convenient, direct his attention toward the house where thy Queen was late held captive. That may prod his mind toward thoughts of interest to us.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do, Anarae,’ Kalten promised.

  The Dacite guard came back. ‘He’ll receive you,’ he announced.

  ‘Somehow I was almost sure he would,’ Kalten smirked. ‘Master Krager’s very fond of this particular wine.’ He and Sparhawk lifted the shafts of the cart and pulled it along over the rough, littered ground at the back of the semi-restored ruin that appeared to be Scarpa’s main headquarters.

  Krager was eagerly waiting in the doorway. His head was shaved, but he still looked much the same. He was dishevelled and unshaven, his near-sighted, watery eyes were bloodshot, and his hands were visibly shaking. ‘Bring it inside,’ he ordered in his familiar, rusty-sounding voice.

  Kalten and Sparhawk set the shafts of the cart down, untied the ropes that had held the two barrels in place, and carefully eased one of them out onto the ground. Kalten measured the height of the barrel with a length of the rope and then checked the width of the doorway. ‘Just barely,’ he said. Tip it over, Fron. We’ll be able to roll it in.’

  Sparhawk heaved the barrel over onto its side, and he and his friend rolled it through the doorway into the cluttered room beyond. There was an unmade bed against one wall, and clothes littered the floor. The place was permeated with the acrid smell of Krager’s unwashed, wine-sodden body, and there was a heap of empty casks and broken earthenware bottles in one corner.

  ‘Where did you want these, Master Krager?’ Kalten asked.

  ‘Anyplace,’ Krager said impatiently.

  ‘That’s not thinking ahead,’ Kalten said critically. ‘They’re too heavy for you to move by yourself. Pick a spot that’ll be convenient.’

  ‘You might be right.’ Krager squinted around the room. Then he went to a place near the head of the bed and kicked some clothes out of the way. ‘Put them right here,’ he instructed.

  ‘Ah – before we go any further, why don’t we settle up? These are very expensive, Master Krager.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Senga told me that
he had to have fifty crowns a barrel. Arcian red’s very hard to come by this far away from Arcium.’

  ‘Fifty crowns?’ Krager exclaimed.

  ‘Each,’ Kalten insisted. ‘He told me to open the barrels for you, too.’

  ‘I know how to open a wine barrel, Col.’

  ‘I’m sure of it, but Senga’s an honest businessman, and he wants me to make sure you’re satisfied before I take your money.’ He rolled the barrel over against the wall. ‘Help me set it up, Fron,’ he told Sparhawk. They righted the barrel, and Kalten took a pry-bar out from under his belt. ‘Beer’s a lot easier to deal with,’ he noted. ‘Somebody ought to tell those Arcian vintners about the advantages of putting a bung-hole in the side of a barrel.’ He carefully pried up the lid as Krager, cup in hand, eagerly waited at his elbow.

  ‘Give it a try, Master Krager,’ Kalten said then, lifting off the lid and stepping aside.

  Krager dipped his cup into the deep red liquid, lifted it with a trembling hand, and drank deeply. ‘Marvelous!’ he sighed happily.

  ‘I’ll tell Senga that it meets with your approval,’ Kalten said. He laughed. ‘You wouldn’t expect it of a highway robber, but Senga’s very concerned about satisfying his customers. Would you believe that he even had us pour out a barrel of beer that had gone sour? Come on, Fron, let’s get the other barrel. We’ll have Master Krager test that one and then we’ll settle accounts.’

  The two of them went back outside and manhandled the second barrel out of the cart.

  ‘Ask him why they’ve taken the guards off the doors of the house where they were holding Ehlana and Alean,’ Sparhawk muttered.

  ‘Right,’ Kalten grunted as they lowered the wine barrel to the ground.

  They put the second barrel beside the first, Kalten pried open the lid, and Krager sampled it.

  ‘Satisfactory?’ Kalten asked.

  ‘Just fine,’ Krager said. He dipped out another cup and sank back happily on his bed. ‘Absolutely splendid.’

  ‘That’ll be a hundred crowns then.’

  Krager pulled a heavy purse out from under his belt and negligently tossed it to Kalten. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Count it out yourself. Don’t steal too much.’