‘Thought is good, U-lat, but you can not eat it.’
‘We hunt thought after our bellies are full.’
‘That is how Trolls and the man-things are different, U-lat. I am a Troll. My belly is never full. Let us hurry. It is my thought that it will be good to know if the dogs of this place are as good-to-eat as the dogs of the other place.’ He paused. I do not wish to cause you anger, U-lat, but it is my thought that the dogs of the man-things are more good-to-eat than the man-things themselves,’ He scratched at his cheek with one shaggy paw. I would still eat a man-thing if my belly was empty, but I would like a dog better.’
‘Let us go find you a dog then.’
‘Your thought is good, U-lat.’ The huge beast reached out and affectionately patted Ulath on the head, nearly driving him to his knees.
The Child Goddess touched her fingertips lightly to the sides of Engessa’s broken head, and her eyes became distant.
‘Well?’ Vanion asked, his tone urgent.
‘Don’t rush me, Vanion. The brain is very complicated.’ She continued her gentle probing. ‘Impossible,’ she said finally, withdrawing her fingers.
Betuana groaned.
‘Please don’t do that, Betuana,’ Aphrael said. ‘All I meant was that I can’t do it here. I’ll have to take him someplace else to repair him.’
‘The island?’ Vanion guessed.
She nodded. I can control things there. This is still Cynesga – Cyrgon’s place. I don’t think he’d give me permission no matter how sweetly I asked him. Can you pray here, Betuana?’
The Atan Queen shook her head. ‘Only in Atan itself.’
‘I’m going to talk to your God about that. It’s really very inconvenient.’ She bent again and put her hand on Engessa’s chest.
The Atan general appeared to stop breathing, and his face and body were suddenly covered with frost.
‘You’ve killed him!’ Betuana shrieked at her.
‘Oh, hush! I just froze him to stop the bleeding until I can get him to the island. The injury itself isn’t so bad, but the bleeding’s tearing up the rest of his brain. The freezing slows it down to a trickle. That’s all I can do for right now, but it should be enough to keep his body from doing any more damage to itself while you’re taking him back to Sarna.’
There’s no hope,’ Betuana said with a look of anguish.
‘What are you talking about? I can have him back on his feet in a day or two – but I have to take him to the island where I can control time. The brain is easy. It’s the heart that’s so – well, never mind that. Listen closely, Betuana. As soon as you and Vanion get him to Sarna, I want you to go to the Atan border as fast as you can run. As soon as you get across that line, fall on your knees and start praying to your God. He’ll be stubborn – he always is – but keep after him. Make a pest of yourself until he gives in. I need his permission to take Engessa to my island. If nothing else works, promise him that I’ll do something nice for him someday. Don’t be too specific, though. Keep bearing down on the fact that I can save Engessa, and he can’t.’
‘I will do as you have commanded, Divine One,’ Betuana declared.
‘I didn’t command, Betuana. I only suggested. I don’t have the authority to command you.’ The Child Goddess turned to Vanion. ‘Let me see your sword,’ she said. I want to have a look at this yellow blood.’
Vanion drew his sword and offered it to her hilt-first.
She shuddered. ‘You hold it, dear one. Steel makes me nauseous.’ She squinted at the stains on the blade. ‘Astonishing,’ she murmured. ‘That isn’t blood at all.’
‘It’s what came out of them when we cut them.’
‘Perhaps, but it’s still not blood. It’s some kind of bile. Klæl’s going a little far afield for allies. Those giants you ran across don’t come from here, Vanion. They aren’t like any creatures on this world.’
‘We noticed that almost immediately, Divine One.’
T’m not talking about their size or shape, Vanion. They don’t even seem to have the same kind of internal organs as the humans and animals. I’d guess that they don’t even have lungs.’
‘Everything has lungs, Aphrael – except maybe fish.’
That’s here, dear one. If these creatures have bile in their veins instead of blood, then they’re relying on their livers for –’ she broke off, frowning. ‘I guess it is possible,’ she said a little dubiously. ‘I’d hate to smell the air on their world, though.’
‘You do know that I haven’t got the foggiest idea of what you’re talking about, don’t you?’
She smiled. ‘That’s all right, dear one. I love you anyway.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
‘It could be good country, friend Tikume,’ Kring said, adjusting his black leather jerkin and looking around at the rocky desert. ‘It’s open and not too rugged. All it needs is water – and a few good people.’ The two of them rode at the front of their disorganized mob of Peloi.
Tikume grinned. ‘When you get right down to it, friend Kring, that’s all Hell really needs.’
Kring laughed. ‘How far is it to this Cynesgan camp?’ he asked.
‘Another five leagues. It’s easy fighting, Domi Kring. The Cynesgans ride horses and carry curved swords much like your sabers, but their horses are scrubby and not very good, and the Cynesgans are too lazy to practice their swordsmanship. To make it even better, they wear flowing robes with big, floppy sleeves. Half the time they get tangled up in their own clothing.’
Kring’s grin was wolfish.
‘They run fairly well,’ Tikume added, ‘but they always come back.’
‘To the same camps?’ Kring asked incredulously.
Tikume nodded. ‘It makes it even easier. We don’t have to go looking for them.’
‘Incredible. Are they using rotten tree-stumps for leaders?’
‘From what I’ve heard, they’re getting their orders from Cyrgon.’ Tikume rubbed his shaved scalp. ‘Do you think it might be heresy to suggest that even a God can be stupid?’
‘As long as you don’t say it about our God, I think you’re safe.’
‘I wouldn’t want to get in trouble with the Church.’
‘Patriarch Emban’s a reasonable man, Domi Tikume. He won’t denounce you if you say unflattering things about our enemy.’ Kring raised up in his stirrups to peer across the brown, gravel-strewn expanse of the Desert of Cynesga. ‘I’m looking forward to this,’ he said. ‘I haven’t been in a real fight for a long time.’ He sank back into his saddle. ‘Oh, I almost forgot. I talked with friend Oscagne about the possibility of a bounty on Cynesgan ears. He said no.’
‘That’s a shame. Men fight better if they’ve got an incentive of some kind.’
‘It even gets to be a habit. We had a fight with the Trolls up in northern Atan, and I had a dead Troll’s ear half sawed-off before I remembered nobody was around to buy it from me. That’s a funny-looking hill up there, isn’t it?’ He pointed ahead at an almost perfectly shaped dome rearing up out of the desert floor.
‘It is a little odd,’ Tikume agreed. ‘There aren’t any rocks on its sides – just dust.’
‘Probably some kind of dust-dune. They have sand-dunes down in Rendor that look like that. The wind whirls the sand around and leaves it in round hills.’
‘Would dust behave like sand?’
‘Evidently so. There’s the proof just up ahead.’
And then, even as they watched, the hill split down the middle and its sides fanned out. They stared at the triangular face of Klæl as he rose ponderously to his feet, shedding great waterfalls of dust from his gleaming black wings.
Kring reined in sharply. ‘I knew something wasn’t right about that hill!’ he exclaimed, cursing his own inattention, as their men surged around them.
‘He didn’t come alone this time!’ Tikume shouted. ‘He had soldiers hidden under his wings! Hold!’
‘Big devils, aren’t they?�
� Kring squinted at the armored warriors rushing toward them. ‘Big or little, though, they’re still infantry, and that’s all the advantage we need, isn’t it?’
‘Right!’ Tikume chortled. ‘This should be more fun than chasing Cynesgans.’
‘I wonder if they’ve got ears,’ Kring said, drawing his saber. ‘If they do, we might just want to gather them up. I haven’t given up on friend Oscagne yet.’
‘There’s one way to find out,’ Tikume said, hefting his javelin and leading the charge.
The standard Peloi tactics seemed to baffle Klæl’s soldiers. The superb horses of the nomads were as swift as deer, and the eastern Peloi’s preference for the javelin over the saber was an additional advantage. The horsemen split up into small groups and began their attack. They slashed forward in long files, each group concentrating on one of the steel-masked monsters and each Peloi hurling his javelin into the huge bodies at close range and then swerving away to safety. After a few such attacks, the front ranks of the enemy warriors bristled like hedgehogs with the short spears protruding from their bodies.
The armored soldiers grew increasingly desperate, and they flailed ineffectually at their swift-charging tormentors with their brutal maces, savaging the unoffending air and almost never striking a solid blow.
‘Good fight!’ Kring panted to his friend after several charges. They’re big, but they’re not quite fast enough.’
‘And not in very good condition either,’ Tikume added. ‘That last one I skewered was puffing and wheezing like a leaky bellows.’
‘They do seem to be having some trouble getting their breath, don’t they?’ Kring agreed. His eyes suddenly narrowed. ‘Wait a minute, let’s try something. Tell your children to just ride in and then wheel and ride out again. Don’t waste any more javelins.’
‘I don’t quite follow, Domi.’
‘Have you ever gone up into the high mountains?’
‘A few times. Why?’
‘Do you remember how hard it was to get your breath?’
‘Right at first, I suppose. I remember getting a little light-headed.’
‘Exactly. I don’t know where Klæl went to recruit these soldiers, but it wasn’t from around here. I think they’re used to thicker air. Let’s make them chase us. Why go to all the trouble of killing somebody if the air’s going to do the job for you?’
‘It’s worth a try.’ Tikume shrugged. ‘It takes a lot of the fun out of it, though.’
‘We can have fun with the Cynesgans later,’ Kring told him. ‘Let’s run Klæl’s infantry to death first. Then we can go slaughter Cyrgon’s cavalry.’
‘Sort of follow my lead on this,’ Stragen told Talen as the two mounted the rickety stairs leading up to the loft. ‘I’ve gotten to know Valash fairly well, so I can gauge his reactions a little better than you can.’
‘All right,’ Talen shrugged. ‘He’s your fish. I’ll let you play him.’
Stragen opened the door to the stale-smelling loft, and the two of them threaded their way through the clutter to Valash’s corner.
The bony Dacite in the brocade jacket was not alone. A gaunt Styric with open, seeping sores on his face slumped in a chair at the table. The Styric’s right arm hung limply at his side, the right side of his ulcerated face sagged, and his right eyelid drooped down to almost totally cover the eye. He was mumbling to himself, evidently completely unaware of his surroundings.
‘This isn’t a good time, Vymer,’ Valash said.
‘It’s quite important, Master Valash,’ Stragen said quickly.
‘All right, but don’t take too long.’
As they approached the table, Talen’s stomach suddenly churned. An overpowering odor of putrefying flesh emanated from the comatose Styric.
This is my master,’ Valash said shortly.
‘Ogerajin?’ Stragen asked.
‘How did you know his name?’
‘You mentioned it to me once, I think – or maybe it was one of your friends. Isn’t he a little sick to be out and about?’
That’s none of your concern, Vymer. What’s this important information you have for me?’
‘Not me, Master Valash. Reldin here picked up something.’
‘Speak up then, boy.’
‘Yes, Master Valash,’ Talen said, ducking his head in a sort of half-bow. ‘I went into a waterfront tavern earlier today, and I heard a couple of Edomish sailors talking. They seemed very excited about something, so I slipped a little closer to find out why they were so worked up. Well, you know how Edomishmen feel about the Church of Chyrellos.’
‘Get on with it, Reldin.’
‘Yes, sir. I was only trying to explain. Anyway, one of the sailors had just reached port, and he was telling the other one to get word to somebody in Edom – Rebal, I think his name is. It seems that the first sailor had just come in from Valesia, and when he’d been leaving port there, his ship passed a fleet coming into the harbor at Valles.’
‘What’s so significant about that?’ Valash demanded.
‘I was just coming to that. What made the first sailor so excited was the fact that the ships he saw were all flying the banners of the Church of Chyrellos and the rails were lined with men wearing armor. He kept babbling something about Church Knights coming to impose heresies on the people of Tamuli.’
Valash was staring at him in open-mouthed horror.
‘As soon as I heard that part, I slipped away. Vymer here thought you might want to know about it, but I wasn’t so sure. What difference should it make to us that the Elenes are arguing about religion? It doesn’t involve us, does it?’
‘How many ships?’ Valash demanded in a half-strangled tone. His eyes were bulging.
‘The sailor wasn’t too specific, Master Valash.’ Talen smiled. ‘I sort of got the impression that he ran out of the numbers that he knew the names of. I guess that fleet stretched from horizon to horizon. If those men in armor are Church Knights, I’d say that all of them are on board these ships. I’ve heard things about those people. I certainly wouldn’t want to be the one they’re coming after. How much would you say this information’s worth, Master Valash?’
Valash reached for his purse without any protest.
‘Have any messengers from those camps out in the woods come by lately, Master Valash?’ Stragen asked suddenly.
‘That’s none of your concern, Vymer.’
‘Whatever you say, Master Valash. All I was getting at is that you ought to warn them about talking in public. I came across a couple of men who looked as if they’ve been living in the woods. One of them was telling the other that they couldn’t do anything until Scarpa got instructions from Cyrga. Who’s Cyrga? I’ve never heard of him.’
‘It’s not a who, Vymer,’ Talen said. ‘It’s a where. Cyrga’s a town over in Cynesga.’
‘Really?’ Stragen’s expression grew curious. ‘This is the first time I’ve ever heard the name. Where is it? What route would you take to get to Cyrga?’
‘The pathway lies close by the Well of Vigay,’ the diseased Ogerajin announced in a loud, declamatory voice.
Valash made a slightly strangled noise and ineffectually tried to wave his hands warningly in front of his master’s face, but Ogerajin brushed him aside. ‘Keep morning at thy back,’ the Styric continued.
‘Master Ogerajin,’ Valash protested in a squeaky tone.
‘Silence, knave,’ Ogerajin thundered at him. I will answer this traveler’s question. If it is his intent to present himself and bow down to Cyrgon, he must know the way. Proceed, traveler, past the Well of Vigay and trek northwesterly into the desert. Thy destination shall be the Forbidden Mountains where none may go without Cyrgon’s leave except at their peril. When thou dost reach those black, forbidding heights, seek ye the Pillars of Cyrgon, for without them to guide thee, Cyrga will remain forever hidden.’
‘Please, Master.’ Valash was helplessly wringing his hands as he stared in chagrin at the raving old lunatic.
‘I ha
ve commanded thy silence, knave. Speak once more and thou shalt surely die.’ He turned back to fix Stragen with his single wild eye. ‘Be not dismayed, traveler, by the Plains of Salt which nomads fear to cross. Ride, boldly ride across the dead whiteness, empty of life save only where miscreants labor in the quarries to mine the precious salt.
‘From the verge of the Plains of Salt wilt thou behold low on the horizon before thee the dark shapes of the Forbidden Mountains, and, if it please Cyrgon, his fiery white pillars will guide thee to his Hidden City.
‘Let not the Plain of Bones disquiet thee. The bones are those of the nameless slaves who toil until death for Cyrgon’s chosen, and, having served their purpose, are then given to the desert.
‘Beyond the Plain of Bones wilt thou come to the Gates of Illusion behind which lies concealed the Hidden City of Cyrga. The eye of mortal man cannot perceive those gates. Stark they stand as a fractured wall at the verge of the Forbidden Mountains to bar thy way. Bend thine eye, however, upon Cyrgon’s two white pillars and direct thy steps toward the emptiness which doth lie between them. Trust not the evidence which thine eye doth present unto thee, for the solid-seeming wall is as mist and will not bar thy way. Pass through it and proceed along the dark corridor to the Glen of Heroes where lie the unnumbered regiments of Cyrgon in restless sleep, awaiting the trumpet call of his mighty voice summoning them forth once more to smite his enemies.’
Valash stepped back a pace and urgently beckoned to Talen to follow him.
Curious, Talen followed the Dacite. ‘Don’t pay any attention to Master Ogerajin, boy,’ Valash said urgently. ‘He hasn’t been well lately, and he has these spells quite often.’
‘I’d already guessed that, Master Valash. Shouldn’t you get him to a physician? He’s really raving, you know.’
‘There’s nothing a physician could do for him,’ Valash shrugged. ‘Just make sure that Vymer understands that the old man doesn’t know what he’s talking about.’ Valash seemed unusually concerned about Ogerajin’s ravings.
‘He already knows, Master Valash. Any time somebody starts throwing the “thee”s' and “thou”s' around, you can be fairly sure that his saddle’s starting to slip.’
The Hidden City Page 23