The Hidden City

by David Eddings

  The Queen of the Atans went to her and sat in a chair.

  ‘What did he say?’ Aphrael asked as she began to slowly pull the comb through Betuana’s dripping hair.

  ‘He said “no” right at first,’ the Queen replied, ‘and “no”, the second and third times as well. He started to weaken about the twelfth time, as I remember it.’

  ‘I knew it would work.’ Aphrael smiled.

  ‘Are we missing something?’ Vanion asked her.

  ‘The Atans don’t call on their God very often, so he almost has to respond when they do. He was probably concentrating on something else, and each time Betuana called him, he had to put it down and go see what she wanted.’

  ‘I was very polite.’ Betuana smiled. ‘But I did keep asking. He’s very much afraid of you, Divine One.’

  ‘I know.’ Aphrael laid down her comb and picked up the brush. ‘He thinks I’m going to steal his soul or something. He won’t come anywhere near me.’

  ‘I let him know that I was going to keep on calling him until he gave me permission,’ Betuana went on, ‘and he finally gave in.’

  ‘They always do,’ Aphrael shrugged. ‘You’ll get what you want eventually if you just keep asking.’

  ‘It’s called “nagging”, Divine One,’ Sparhawk told her.

  ‘How would you like to listen to a few days of trumpet fanfares, Sparhawk?’ she asked.

  ‘Ah – no, thanks. It was good of you to ask, though.’

  ‘He definitely gave his permission?’ Aphrael asked the Queen.

  Betuana smiled. ‘Very definitely. He said, “Tell her she can do anything she wants! Just leave me alone!”’

  ‘Good. I’ll take Engessa to the island then.’ Aphrael pursed her lips. ‘Maybe you’d better send a runner to your husband. Tell him about Klæl’s soldiers. I know your husband, so you’ll have to order him not to attack them. I’ve never known anyone so totally incapable of turning around as he is.’

  ‘I’ll try to explain it to him,’ Betuana said a little dubiously.

  ‘Good luck. Here.’ Aphrael handed over the comb and brush. ‘I’ll take Engessa to the island, thaw him out, and get started.’

  Ulath called a halt on the outskirts of town, and Bhlokw summoned Ghnomb. The God of Eat appeared holding the half-eaten hind-quarter of some large animal in one huge paw.

  ‘We have reached the place where the one called Berit has been told to come,’ Ulath told the huge Troll-God. ‘It would be well now if we come out of No-Time and go into the time of broken moments.’

  Ghnomb gave him a baffled look, clearly not understanding what they were doing.

  ‘U-lat and Tin-in hunt thought,’ Bhlokw explained. The man-things have bellies in their minds as well as the bellies in their bellies. They have to fill both bellies. Their belly-bellies are full now. That is why they ask this. It is their wish to now fill their mind-bellies.’

  A slow look of comprehension began to dawn on Ghnomb’s brutish face. ‘Why did you not say this before, Ulath-from-Thalesia?’

  Ulath groped for an answer.

  ‘It was Bhlokw who found that we have mind-bellies,’ Tynian stepped in. ‘We did not know this. We only knew that our minds were hungry. It is good that Ghworg sent Bhlokw to hunt with us. Bhlokw is a very good hunter.’

  Bhlokw beamed.

  Ulath quickly expanded the metaphor. ‘Our mind-bellies hunger for thoughts about the wicked ones,’ he explained. ‘We can track those thoughts in the bird-noises the man-things make when they speak. We will stand on one side of the broken moment where they can not see us, and listen to the bird-noises they are making. We will follow those tracks to the ones we hunt, and they will not know we are there. Then we will listen to the bird-noises they make and learn where they have hidden Anakha’s mate.’

  ‘You hunt well,’ Ghnomb approved. I had not thought of this kind of hunting before. It is almost as good as hunting things-to-eat. I will help you in your hunt.’

  ‘It makes us glad that you will,’ Tynian thanked him.

  Arjun was the capital of the Kingdom of Arjuna, a substantial city on the south shore of the lake. The royal palace and the stately homes of the noble families of the kingdom lay in the hills on the southern edge of town, and the commercial center was near the lake-front.

  Ulath and Tynian concealed their horses and proceeded on foot through the grey half-light of Ghnomb’s broken moments into the city itself. Then they split up and began to search for the food their mind-bellies craved, while Bhlokw went looking for dogs.

  It was almost evening when Ulath came out of another of the seedy taverns near the docks on the east side of town. ‘This is going to take all month,’ he muttered to himself. The name Scarpa had cropped up in a few of the conversations he had overheard, and each time he heard it, he had eagerly drawn closer to listen. Unfortunately, however, Scarpa and his army were general topics of conversation here, and Ulath had not been able to pick up anything that was at all useful.

  ‘Get out of my way!’ The voice was harsh, peremptory. Ulath turned to see who was being so offensive.

  The man was a richly dressed Dacite. He was riding a spirited black horse, and his face bore the marks of habitual dissipation.

  Though he had never seen the fellow before, Ulath recognized him immediately. Talen’s pencil had captured that face almost perfectly. Ulath smiled. ‘Well, now,’ he murmured, ‘that’s a little better.’ He stepped out into the street and followed the prancing black horse.

  Their destination was one of the grand houses near the royal palace. A liveried servant rushed from the house to greet the sneering Elene. ‘We’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival, my Lord,’ he declared, bowing obsequiously.

  ‘Get somebody to take care of my horse,’ the Elene snapped as he dismounted. ‘Is everybody here?’

  ‘Yes, Baron Parok.’

  ‘Astonishing. Don’t just stand there, fool. Take me to them at once.’

  ‘Yes, my Lord Baron.’

  Ulath smiled again and followed them into the house.

  The room to which the servant led them appeared to be a study of some kind. The walls were lined with book-cases, though the books shelved there showed no signs of ever having been opened. There were about a dozen men in the room: some Elene, some Arjuni, and even one Styric.

  ‘Let’s get down to business,’ Baron Parok told them, negligently tossing his plumed hat and his gloves down on the table. ‘What have you to report?’

  ‘Prince Sparhawk has reached Tiana, Baron Parok,’ the lone Styric told him.

  ‘We expected that.’

  ‘We did not, however, expect his treatment of my kinsman. He and that brute he calls his squire followed our messenger and assaulted him. They tore off all his clothes and turned all his pockets inside out.’

  Parok laughed harshly. ‘I’ve met your cousin, Zorek,’ he said. ‘I’m sure he richly deserved it. What did he say to the Prince to merit such treatment?’

  ‘He gave them the note, my Lord, and that ruffian of a squire made some insulting remark about a twenty-day journey on horseback. My cousin took offense at that and told them that they only had fourteen days to make the journey.’

  ‘That was not in the instructions,’ Parok snapped. ‘Did Sparhawk kill him?’

  ‘No, my lord,’ Zorek’s tone was sullen.

  ‘Pity,’ Parok said darkly. ‘Now I’ll have to attend to it myself. You Styrics get above yourselves at times. When I have leisure, I’m going to run your cousin down and hang his guts on a fence as an example to the rest of you. You’re being paid to do as you’re told, not to get creative.’ He looked around. ‘Who’s got the next note?’ he asked.

  ‘I have, my Lord,’ a rather prosperous-looking Edom-ishman replied.

  ‘You’d better hold off on delivering it. Zorek’s cousin upset our timetable with his excursion into constructive creativity. Let Sparhawk cool his heels here for a week or so. Then give him the note that tells him to go on to Derel. Lord
Scarpa wants his army to start moving north before we give Sparhawk that last message – the one that tells him to go on to Natayos for the exchange.’

  ‘Baron Parok,’ a baggy-eyed Arjuni in a brocade doublet said arrogantly, ‘this delay – particularly here in the capital – poses some threat to my king. This Sparhawk person is notoriously irrational, and he does still have the jewel of power in his possession. His Majesty does not want that Elene barbarian lingering here in Arjun with spare time on his hands. Send him on to Derel immediately. If he’s going to destroy some place, let it be Derel instead of Arjun.’

  ‘You have amazingly sharp ears, Duke Milanis,’ Parok said sardonically. ‘Can you really hear what King Rakya is saying when you’re a mile from the palace?’

  ‘I’m here to protect His Majesty’s interests, Baron. I have full authority to speak for him. His Majesty’s alliance with Lord Scarpa is not etched on a diamond. Keep Prince Sparhawk moving. We don’t want him here in Arjun.’

  ‘And if I don’t?’

  Milanis shrugged. ‘His Majesty will abrogate the alliance and make a full report of what you people have been doing – and what you’re planning to do – to the Tamul Ambassador.’

  ‘I see that the old saw about the stupidity of trusting an Arjuni still holds true.’

  ‘Just do as you’re told, Parok,’ Milanis snapped. ‘Don’t bore me with all these tedious protests and racial slurs. Don’t make any blunders here, old boy. His Majesty’s report to the ambassador has already been written. All he requires is an excuse to send it across town.’

  A servant entered with a flagon and a tray of wineglasses, and Ulath took advantage of the open door to slip from the room. It was going to take a while to round up Tynian and Bhlokw, and then they were going to have to compose a fairly extensive message to Aphrael.

  After he had slipped out of the house, however, Sir Ulath very briefly indulged himself. He leapt high into the air with a triumphant bellow, smacking his hands together with glee. Then he composed himself and went looking for his friends.

  The black-armored Sir Heldin returned to rejoin Patriarch Bergsten at the head of the column.

  ‘Any luck?’ Bergsten asked him.

  Heldin shook his head. ‘Sir Tynian was very thorough,’ he rumbled in his deep basso. ‘He winnowed through the ranks of the Pandion Order like a man panning for gold. I think he took just about everybody who can even pronounce the Styric language.’

  ‘You know the spells.’

  ‘Yes, but Aphrael can’t hear me. My voice is pitched too low for her ears.’

  ‘That raises some very interesting theological points,’ Bergsten mused.

  ‘Could we ponder them some other time, your Grace? Right now we have to get word of what happened in Zemoch to Sparhawk and Vanion. The war could be over by the time Ambassador Fontan’s messengers reach them.’

  ‘Talk with the other orders, Heldin,’ Bergsten suggested.

  ‘I don’t think it would work, your Grace. Each order works through the personal God of the Styric who taught them the secrets. We have to get word to Aphrael. She’s the one who’s perched on Sparhawk’s shoulder.’

  ‘Heldin, you spent too much time practicing with your weapons during your novitiate. Theology does have a purpose, you know.’

  ‘Yes, your Grace,’ Heldin sighed, rolling his eyes upward and bracing himself for a sermon.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ Bergsten told him. ‘I’m not talking about Elene theology. I’m talking about the misguided beliefs of the Styrics. How many Styric Gods are there?’

  ‘A thousand, your Grace,’ Heldin replied promptly. ‘Sephrenia always made some issue of that.’

  ‘Do these thousand Younger Gods exist independently of each other?’

  ‘As I understand it, they’re all related – sort of like a family.’

  ‘Amazing. You did listen when Sephrenia was talking to you. You Pandions all worship Aphrael, right?’

  ‘ “Worship” might be too strong a term, your Grace.’

  ‘I’ve heard stories about Aphrael, Heldin,’ Bergsten smiled. ‘She has a private agenda. She’s trying to steal the whole of human-kind. Now then, I’m a member of the Genidian Order.’ He paused. ‘I was,’ he corrected himself. ‘We make our appeals to Hanka; the Cyrinics work through Romalic; and the Alciones deal with Setras. Do you imagine that in their misty heaven somewhere above the clouds these Styric Gods might now and then talk with each other?’

  ‘Please don’t beat me over the head, Bergsten. I overlooked something, that’s all. I’m not stupid.’

  ‘Never said you were, old boy.’ Bergsten smiled. ‘You just needed spiritual guidance, that’s all. That’s the purpose of our Holy Mother. Come to me with your spiritual problems, my son. I will gently guide you – and if guidance doesn’t work, I’ll take my axe and drive you.’

  ‘I see that your Grace adheres to the notion of the Church Muscular,’ Heldin said sourly.

  ‘That’s my spiritual problem, my son, not yours. Now go find an Alcione. Legend has it that Aphrael and Setras are particularly close. I think we can count on Setras to pass things along to his thieving little cousin.’

  ‘Your Grace!’ Heldin protested.

  ‘The Church has had her eye on Aphrael for centuries, Heldin. We know all about your precious little Child Goddess and her tricks. Don’t let her kiss you, my friend. If you do, she’ll pinch your soul while you’re not looking.’

  There were a dozen wobbly ox-carts this time, all heavily laden with beer barrels, and Senga had recruited several dozen of Narstil’s shabby outlaws to assist him in guarding and dispensing his product. Kalten had rather smoothly insinuated Caalador and Bevier into the company.

  ‘I still think you’re making a mistake, Senga,’ Kalten told his good-natured employer as their rickety cart jolted along the rough jungle path toward Natayos. ‘You’ve got a complete lock on the market. Why lower your prices?’

  ‘Because I’ll make more money if I do.’

  That doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Look, Col,’ Senga explained patiently, ‘when I came here before, I only had one cart-load of beer. I could get any price I asked, because my beer was so scarce.’

  ‘I guess that makes sense.’

  ‘I’ve got an almost unlimited supply now, though, so I’m making my profit on volume instead of price.’

  ‘That’s what doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Let me put it this way. Which would you rather do – steal ten crowns from one man or a penny from each of ten thousand men?’

  Kalten did some quick counting on his fingers. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Now I see what you’re driving at. Very shrewd, Senga.’

  Senga puffed himself up a little. ‘It never hurts to think long-range, Col. My real concern is the fact that it’s not really all that hard to make beer. If some clever fellow’s got a recipe, he could set up his own brewery right here. I don’t want to get involved in a price war just when things are starting to go well for me.’

  They had left Narstil’s camp at daybreak, and so it was mid-morning when they reached Natayos. They passed unchallenged through the gates, rumbled by the house with barred windows, and set up shop again in the same square as before. As Senga’s closest associate, Kalten had been promoted to the position of Chief of Security. The reputation for unpleasantness he had established early on in Narstil’s camp ensured that none of the outlaws would question his orders, and the presence of Bevier, patch-eyed, lochaber-armed, and obviously homicidal, added to his authority.

  ‘We ain’t likely t’ accomplish too much here, Col,’ Caalador muttered to Kalten as the two of them stood guard near one of the busy beer-carts. ‘Ol’ Senga’s so worried ‘bout some feller slippin’ by ‘thout payin’ that me’n you is tied down tighter’n a couple o’ dawgs on short leashes.’

  ‘Wait until later, Ezek,’ Kalten advised. ‘We’ll be able to move around a little more freely after everybody gets drunk.’

  Bevier slouche
d over to join them, his short-handled lochaber in his fist. People automatically got out of his way for some reason. ‘I just had a thought,’ he said.

  ‘You want to kill somebody?’ Kalten suggested.

  ‘Be serious, Col. Why don’t you take your friend Senga aside and suggest that he set up a permanent establishment here in Natayos? It’s the logical thing to do, and it’d give the three of us an excuse to stay here. If we cleaned out one of these ruined buildings and opened a tavern, we could stay here and run it. It makes more sense than selling beer off the tail-gate of an ox-cart.’

  ‘He’s got hisself a point there, Col,’ Caalador said. ‘Ol’ Shallag here, he looks like he drinks blood for breakfast, but his head’s still a-workin’ in back o’ that there eye-patch.’

  Kalten thought about it. ‘It would set us up right here in Natayos, wouldn’t it? We’d be able to keep an eye on things.’ He looked around. ‘Senga’s a little worried that somebody here might start his own brewery,’ he said for the benefit of nearby soldiers. ‘If the three of us are right here, we could probably persuade anybody who does that to take up another hobby. I’ll go talk with Senga and see what he thinks of the notion.’

  He found his good-natured friend sitting at a makeshift table behind one of the ox-carts. The outlaw was counting money with an almost dreamy expression on his face. ‘Oh, this is just fine, Col,’ he almost crooned.

  ‘They’re only pennies.’

  ‘I know, but there are so many of them.’

  ‘Shallag came up with an idea.’

  ‘He wants to thin out the crowd by hacking the head off every third man in line?’

  ‘Shallag’s not really that bad.’

  ‘Oh, really? Every man in camp has nightmares about him.’

  ‘He hasn’t killed a single man since he came to Arjuna.’

  ‘He’s saving up. He’s just biding his time until he can gather up a few thousand of us all together and kill all of us at once.’

  ‘Do you want to listen to his idea, or haven’t you finished making bad jokes yet?’