The Hidden City

  ‘Thirty feet or so,’ Bevier replied softly to Kalten’s question.

  Mirtai was examining the angle formed by the joining of the two walls. ‘This won’t be very difficult,’ she whispered.

  ‘The whole structure’s poorly designed,’ Bevier agreed critically.

  ‘I’ll go up first,’ Talen said.

  ‘Don’t do anything foolish up there,’ Mirtai cautioned.

  ‘Trust me.’ He set his foot up on one of the protruding stones of the outer wall and reached for a hand-hold on the palace wall. He went up quickly.

  ‘We’ll check for sentries when we get up there,’ Mirtai quietly told the others. ‘Then we’ll drop a rope down to you.’ She reached up and began to follow the young thief up the angle between the two walls.

  Bevier leaned back and looked upward. “The moon’s all the way up now,’ he said.

  ‘Thinkest thou that it might reveal us?’ Xanetia asked him.

  ‘No, Anarae. We’ll be climbing the north side of the tower, so we’ll be in shadow the whole way to the top.’

  They waited tensely, craning their necks to watch the climbers creeping upward.

  ‘Somebody’s coming!’ Kalten hissed. ‘Up there – along the battlements!’

  The climbers stopped, pulling back into the shadows of the sharp angle between the two walls.

  ‘He’s got a torch,’ Kalten whispered. ‘If he holds it out over those battlements –’ he left it hanging.

  Sparhawk held his breath.

  ‘It’s all right now,’ Bevier said. ‘He’s going back.’

  ‘We might want to deal with him when we get up there,’ Kalten noted.

  ‘Not if we can avoid it,’ Sparhawk disagreed. ‘We don’t want somebody else to come looking for him.’

  Talen had reached the battlements. He clung to the rough stones for a moment, listening. Then he slipped over the top and out of sight. After several interminable moments, Mirtai followed him.

  Sparhawk and the others waited in the darkness.

  Then Mirtai’s rope came slithering down the wall.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Sparhawk said tensely. ‘One at a time.’

  The building-blocks were of rough, square-fractured basalt, and they protruded unevenly from the walls, making climbing much simpler than it appeared. Sparhawk didn’t even bother to use the rope. He reached the top and clambered over the battlements. ‘Do the sentries have any kind of set routine up here?’ he asked Mirtai.

  ‘It seems that each one has his own section of wall,’ she replied. ‘The one at this end doesn’t walk very fast. I’m guessing, but I’d say that it’ll be a quarter of an hour before he comes back.’

  ‘Is there any place where we can take cover before then?’

  ‘There’s a door in that first tower,’ Talen said, pointing at the squat structure rising at the end of the parapet. ‘It opens onto a stairwell.’

  ‘Have you taken a look at the back wall yet?’

  Talen nodded. ‘There’s no parapet along that side, but there’s a ledge a couple of feet wide where the outer wall joins the back of the palace. We’ll be able to make our way along that until we get on that central tower. Then we get to start climbing.’

  ‘Does the sentry look back there when he reaches this end of the parapet?’

  ‘He didn’t last time,’ Mirtai said.

  ‘Let’s look at that stairwell, then,’ Sparhawk decided. ‘As soon as the others are up, we’ll hide in there until the sentry reaches this end and starts back. That should give us a half-hour to crawl along that ledge to the central tower. Even if he looks around the corner next time, we should be out of the range of his torch by then.’

  ‘He’s right on top of these things, isn’t he?’ Talen said gaily to Mirtai.

  ‘What is this boy’s problem?’ Sparhawk demanded of the golden giantess.

  ‘There’s a certain kind of excitement involved in this, Dorlin’,’ Mirtai replied. ‘It sets the blood to pounding.’

  ‘Dorlin’?’

  ‘Professional joke, Sparhawk. You probably wouldn’t understand.’

  Vanion’s scouts had returned about sunset to report contact with Kring to the south and Queen Betuana’s Atans to the north. The ring of steel around the Forbidden Mountains was drawing inexorably tighter. The moon was rising over the desert when Betuana and Engessa came running in from Vanion’s right flank and Kring and Tikume rode in from the left.

  ‘Tynian-Knight will be along soon, Vanion-Preceptor,’ Engessa reported. ‘He and Ulath-Knight have spoken with Bergsten-Priest on their right. Ulath-Knight has remained with the Trolls to try to prevent incidents.’

  ‘Incidents?’ Sephrenia asked.

  ‘The Trolls are hungry. Ulath-Knight gave them a regiment of the Klæl-beasts to eat, but the flavor did not please the Trolls. Ulath-Knight tried to apologize, but I am not sure if the Trolls understood.’

  ‘Have you seen Berit and Khalad yet, friend Vanion?’ Kring asked.

  ‘No, but Aphrael said that they’re just ahead of us. Her cousin guided them to the spot where that hidden gate’s supposed to be.’

  ‘If they know where the gate is, we could go on in,’ Betuana suggested.

  ‘We’d better wait, dear,’ Sephrenia replied. ‘Aphrael will let me know as soon as Sparhawk rescues Ehlana and Alean.’

  Tynian came riding across the vast open graveyard. ‘Bergsten’s in place,’ he reported, swinging down out of his saddle. He looked at Itagne. I have a message for you, your Excellency.’

  ‘Oh? From whom?’

  ‘Atana Maris is with Bergsten. She wants to talk with you.’

  Itagne’s eyes widened. ‘What’s she doing here?’ he exclaimed.

  ‘She said that your letters must have gone astray. Not a single one of them reached her. You did write to her, didn’t you, your Excellency?’

  ‘Well – I was intending to.’ Itagne looked slightly embarrassed. ‘Something always seemed to come up, though.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll understand,’ Tynian’s face was blandly expressionless. ‘Anyway, after she handed the city of Cynestra over to Bergsten, she decided to come looking for you.’

  Itagne’s expression was slightly worried. ‘I hadn’t counted on that,’ he confessed.

  ‘What’s this?’ Betuana asked curiously.

  ‘Ambassador Itagne and Atana Maris became good friends while he was in Cynestra, your Majesty,’ Sephrenia explained. ‘Very good friends, actually.’

  ‘Ah,’ Betuana said. ‘It’s a little unusual, but it’s not unheard of, and Maris has always been an impulsive girl.’ Although the Atan Queen still wore deep mourning, she seemed to have abandoned her ritual silence. ‘A word of advice, Itagne-Ambassador – if you’d care to hear it.’

  ‘Of course, your Majesty.’

  ‘It’s not at all wise to toy with the affections of an Atan woman. It might not seem so, but we’re very emotional. Sometimes we form attachments that aren’t really appropriate.’ She did not look at Engessa as she said it. ‘Appropriate or not, however, those emotions are extremely powerful, and once the attachment is formed, there’s very little we can do about it.’

  ‘I see,’ he said. ‘I’ll definitely keep that in mind, your Majesty.’

  ‘Do you want me to go find Berit and Khalad and bring them back here, friend Vanion?’ Kring asked.

  Vanion considered it. ‘We’d better stay away from that gate,’ he decided. ‘The Cyrgai might be watching. Berit and Khalad are supposed to be there, but we aren’t. Let’s not stir anything up until Sparhawk sends word that his wife’s safe. Then we’ll all go in. There are a number of accounts that are long past due, and I think the time’s coming when we’ll want to settle up.’

  * * *

  The ledge that ran along the back of the palace made reaching the central tower a matter of hardly more than a casual stroll. It still took time, however, and Sparhawk was acutely aware of the fact that the night was already more than half over. Mirtai and
Talen moved up the side of the tower quickly, but the rest of them, roped together for safety, made much slower progress.

  Sparhawk was peering upward when Kalten joined him. ‘Where’s Aphrael?’ the blond Pandion asked quietly.

  ‘Everywhere. Didn’t she tell you?’

  ‘Very funny, Sparhawk.’ Kalten looked off toward the east. ‘Are we going to make it before it starts getting light?’

  ‘It could be close. There seems to be some kind of balcony just above us – and lit windows.’

  ‘Are we going around them?’

  ‘I’ll have Talen take a look. If there aren’t too many Cyrgai in the room, we might be able to finish this climb inside.’

  ‘Let’s not take chances, Sparhawk. I’ll climb all the way to the moon if I have to. Go on up. I’ve got the rope tied off.’

  ‘Right.’ Sparhawk started up again. A slight breeze had come up, brushing the basalt wall with tenuous fingers. It was not strong enough to pose any dangers as yet, but Sparhawk definitely didn’t want it getting any stronger.

  ‘You’re out of condition, Sparhawk,’ Mirtai told him critically when he reached the spot just below where she and Talen clung to the wall.

  ‘Nobody’s perfect. Can you make out any details of that balcony yet?’

  ‘I was just going to swing over and have a look,’ Talen replied. He untied the rope from about his waist and began working his way across the wall toward the balcony.

  ‘You’re making me cross, Sparhawk.’ Aphrael’s voice seemed very loud in the silence of his mind. ‘I have plans for that young man, and they don’t include scraping him up off a street five hundred feet below.’

  ‘He knows what he’s doing. You worry too much. As long as you’re here, could you give me a few details about the top of this tower?’

  ‘There’s a separate building up there – probably an afterthought of some kind. It’s got three rooms: a guardroom for the platoon or so of ceremonial troops, the cell where Mother and Alean are being held, and a large room across the front. Santheocles spends most of his time there.’

  ‘Santheocles?’

  ‘The King of the Cyrgai. He’s an idiot. They all are, but he’s worse than most.’

  ‘Is there a window in Ehlana’s cell?’

  ‘A small one. It’s barred, but you couldn’t get through it anyway. The building up there is smaller than the rest of this tower, so there’s a kind of parapet that runs all the way round it.’

  ‘Do those guards patrol it?’

  ‘No. There’s no real need for that. It’s the highest place in the city, and the notion that somebody might scale the tower has never occurred to the Cyrgai.’

  ‘Is Santheocles up there right now?’

  ‘He was, but I think he might have left since I looked in through the window. Zalasta was with him – and Ekatas. There was some sort of gathering they were planning to attend.’

  There was a low whistle, and Sparhawk looked toward the balcony. Talen was motioning to him. ‘I’m going to go and have a look,’ Sparhawk told Mirtai.

  ‘Don’t be too long,’ she cautioned. ‘The night’s starting to run out on us.’

  He grunted and started across toward the balcony.

  * * *

  The drawbridge was down, and no one was standing watch. ‘How very convenient,’ Elysoun said as she, Liatris and Gahennas crossed the bridge into the courtyard of the castle. ‘Chacole thinks of everything, doesn’t she?’

  ‘I thought there were supposed to be Church Knights on guard here,’ Gahennas said. ‘Chacole couldn’t bribe them, could she?’

  ‘Lord Vanion took his knights with him,’ Liatris replied. ‘The responsibility for guarding the castle’s been turned over to ceremonial troops from the main garrison. Some officer is probably quite a bit richer than he was yesterday. You’ve been here before, Elysoun. Where can we find our husband?’

  ‘He’s usually up on the second floor. There are royal apartments there.’

  ‘We’d better get up there in a hurry. That unguarded gate makes me very nervous. I doubt that we’d be able to find a guard anywhere in the castle, and that means that Chacole’s assassins have free access to Sarabian.’

  The balcony appeared not to have been used for at least a generation. Dust lay deep in the corners, and the thick crust of bird-droppings on the floor was undisturbed. Talen was crouched beside the window, peering round the edge, when Sparhawk came up over the stone balustrade. ‘Is there anybody in there?’ the big Pandion whispered.

  ‘A whole crowd,’ Talen whispered back. ‘Zalasta just came in with a couple of Cyrgai.’

  Sparhawk joined his young friend and looked in.

  The room appeared to be some kind of torch-lit audience hall or throne-room. The balcony where Sparhawk and Talen crouched was above the level of the floor and was reached from the inside by a flight of stone stairs. There was a slightly raised dais at the far end of the room with a throne carved from a single rock at the back of it. A well-muscled, handsome man in an ornate breastplate and a short leather kirtle sat on the throne surveying the men around him with an imperious expression. Zalasta stood to one side of the man on the throne, and a wrinkled man in an ornamented black robe was at the front of the dais speaking in his own language. Sparhawk swore and quickly cast the spell.

  ‘Now what?’ Aphrael’s voice sounded in his mind.

  ‘Can you translate for me?’

  ‘I can do better than that.’

  He seemed to hear a faint buzzing sound and felt a momentary giddiness.

  ‘… and even now those forces do surround the sacred city,’ the wrinkled man was saying in a language Sparhawk now understood.

  A man with iron-grey hair and powerfully muscled arms stepped forward from the gathering before the dais. ‘What is there to fear, Ekatas?’ he asked in a booming voice. ‘Mighty Cyrgon clouds the eyes of our enemies as he has for a hundred centuries. Let them crouch among the bones beyond our valley and seek vainly the Gates of Illusion. They are as blind men and pose no danger to the Hidden City.’

  There was a murmur of agreement from the others standing before the dais.

  ‘General Ospados speaks truth,’ another armored man declared, also stepping forward. ‘Let us, as we have always, ignore these puny foreigners at our gates.’

  ‘Shameful!’ another bellowed, stepping to the front some distance from the two who had already spoken. ‘Will we hide from inferior races? Their presence at our gates is an affront that must be punished!’

  ‘Can you make out what they’re saying?’ Talen whispered.

  ‘They’re arguing,’ Sparhawk replied.

  ‘Really?’ Talen’s tone was sardonic. ‘Could you be a little more specific, Sparhawk?’

  ‘Evidently Aphrael’s cousins have managed to get everybody here. From what the fellow in the black robe was saying, the city’s surrounded.’

  ‘It’s a comfort to have friends nearby. What do these people plan to do about it?’

  That’s what they’re arguing about. Some of them want to just sit tight. Others want to attack.’

  Then Zalasta came to the front of the dais. ‘Thus says Eternal Klæl,’ he declared. ‘The forces beyond the Gates of Illusion are as nothing. The danger is here within the walls of the Hidden City. Anakha is even now within the sound of my voice.’

  Sparhawk swore.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Talen demanded.

  ‘Zalasta knows we’re here.’

  ‘How did he find that out?’

  ‘I have no idea. He says that he’s speaking for Klæl, and Klæl can probably feel Bhelliom.’

  ‘Even through the gold?’

  ‘The gold might hide Bhelliom from Cyrgon, but Bhelliom and Klæl are brothers. They can probably feel each other halfway across the universe – even when there are whole suns burning between them.’ Sparhawk held up his hand. ‘He’s saying something else.’ He leaned closer to the window.

  ‘I know you can hear me, Sparhawk!’ Za
lasta said in a loud voice, speaking in Elenic. ‘You’re Bhelliom’s creature, and that gives you a certain amount of power. But I am Klæl’s now, and that gives me just as much as you have.’ Zalasta sneered. ‘The disguises were very clever, but Klæl saw through them immediately. You should have done as you were told, Sparhawk. You’ve doomed your two young friends, and there’s not a single thing you can do about it.’

  There were a half-dozen men in nondescript clothing in the hallway outside the door to the room where the Emperor had been the last time Elysoun had visited him. Elysoun did not even think. ‘Sarabian!’ she shouted. ‘Lock your door!’

  The Emperor, of course, did not. After a momentary shocked pause while the assassins froze in their tracks and Liatris blistered the air around her with curses even as she drew her daggers, the door burst open and Sarabian, dressed in Elene hose, a full-sleeved linen shirt, and with his long, black hair tied back, lunged out into the hallway, rapier in hand.

  Sarabian was tall for a Tamul, and his first lunge pinned an assassin to the wall opposite the door. The Emperor whipped his sword free of the suddenly collapsing body with a dramatic flourish.

  ‘Quit showing off!’ Liatris snapped at her husband as she neatly ripped one of the assassins up the middle. ‘Pay attention!’

  ‘Yes, my love,’ Sarabian said gaily, crouching again into en garde.

  Elysoun had only a small, neat dagger with a five-inch blade. It was long enough, though. An Arjuni assassin with a foot-long poniard parried Sarabian’s next thrust and, snarling spitefully, rushed forward with his needle-like dagger directed at the Emperor’s very eyes. Then he arched back with a choked cry. Elysoun’s little knife, sharp as any razor, had plunged smoothly into the small of his back, ripping into his kidneys.

  It was Gahennas, however, who startled and shocked them all. Her weapon was a slim, curved knife. With a shrill scream, the jug-eared Tegan Empress flew into the middle of the fray, slashing at the faces of Chacole’s hired killers. Screeching, Gahennas hacked at the startled assailants, and Sarabian took advantage of every lapse. His thin blade whistled as he danced the deadly dance of thrust and recover. This is not to say that the Emperor of Tamuli was a master swordsman. He was fairly skilled, but Stragen might have found room for criticism. In truth, it was the wives who carried the day – or night, in this case.