The Hidden City (30 page)

‘A good story could un-mass them.'

‘I don't think there is such a word.'

‘Did we come here to discuss vocabulary? What will the Cynesgans do if they hear that the Church Knights are coming? Wouldn't they almost have to send an army to meet them?'

‘I think Sparhawk and Vanion want to keep the fact that the knights are coming more or less a secret.'

‘Stragen, how are you going to keep a hundred thousand men a secret? Let's say that I tell Valash that I've picked up a very reliable report that a fleet of ships flying Church banners has rounded the southern tip of Daconia bound for Kaftal. Wouldn't that cause the other side some concern? Even if they know about the knights coming across Zemoch, they'd
still
have to send troops to meet that fleet. They couldn't ignore the possibility that the knights are coming at them from two different directions.'

Stragen suddenly laughed.

‘What's so funny?'

‘You and I have been running together for too long, Talen. We're starting to think alike. I came up with the idea of telling Valash that the Atans are going to cross the steppes of eastern Astel and strike down into northern Cynesga toward the capital.'

‘Nice plan,' Talen said.

‘So's yours,' Stragen squinted out across the moon-bathed water. ‘Either story's strategically credible,' he mused. ‘They're exactly the kind of moves a military man
would
come up with. What we're
really
planning is a simultaneous strike from the east and the west. If we can make Cyrgon believe that we're going to hit him from the north and south instead, we'll pull him so far out of position that he'll never be able to get his armies back to meet our real attacks.'

‘Not to mention the fact that we'll cut his army in two.'

‘We'll have to be careful though,' Stragen cautioned. I don't think even Valash is gullible enough to swallow these stories if we drop them both on him at the same time. We'll have to spread them out and dribble them to him bit by bit. What I'd
really
like to do is let the fairy-tale about the Atans come from someone other than me.'

‘Sparhawk could probably get Aphrael to arrange that,' Talen suggested.

‘If he ever comes back. His note was a little vague. We can get things rolling, though. Let's modify your story a bit. Push your make-believe fleet back to Valesia. Give Cyrgon some time to worry about it before we pinpoint Kaftal as the final destination. I'll plant a couple of ambiguous hints about the Atans massing up near their northwestern frontier. We'll let things stand that way until Sparhawk comes back.'

Talen sighed.

‘What's wrong?'

‘This is almost legal, isn't it?'

‘I suppose you could say so, yes. Is there some problem with that?'

‘If it's legal, why am I having so much fun?'

‘Nothing?' Ulath asked, opening the neck of his red uniform jacket.

‘Not a peep,' Tynian replied. ‘I cast the spell four times, and I still can't raise her.'

‘Maybe she's busy.'

‘It's possible, I guess.'

Ulath rubbed at his cheek reflectively. ‘I definitely think I'll shave off Sir Gerda's beard,' he muttered. ‘You know, it
could
be that it's because we're in No-Time. When we did this the first time – back in Pelosia – none of our spells worked.'

‘I think this spell's different, Ulath. I'm not really trying to
do
anything. I just want to talk with Aphrael.'

‘Yes, but you're mixing magic. You're trying to use a Styric spell when you're up to your ears in a Trollish one.'

‘Maybe that's it. I'll try again when we get to Arjun and go back into real time.'

Bhlokw came shambling back through the grey light of Ghnomb's frozen moment, passing a flock of stationary birds hanging in the air. ‘There are some of the dens of the man-things in the next valley,' he reported.

‘Many or few?' Ulath asked him.

‘Many,' Bhlokw replied. ‘Will the man-things have dogs there?'

‘There are always dogs near the dens of the man-things, Bhlokw.'

‘We should hurry then.' The shaggy Troll paused. ‘What do the man-things call this place?'

‘It is the place Arjun – I think.'

‘That is the place where we want to go, is it not?'

‘Yes.'

‘Why?'

‘The wicked ones have told the one called Berit to go there. It is our thought that we should go there in Ghnomb's broken moment and listen to the bird-talk of the man-things. One of the man-things may say where the wicked ones will tell the one called Berit to go next. It may be that the next place will be the place where Anakha's mate is. It would be good to know this.'

Bhlokw's shaggy brow furrowed as he struggled his way through that. ‘Are the hunts of the man-things always so not-simple?' he asked.

‘It is the nature of our kind to be not-simple.'

‘Does it not make your head hurt?'

Ulath smiled, being careful not to show his teeth. ‘Sometimes it does,' he admitted.

‘It is my thought that a simple hunt is better than a not-simple hunt. The hunts of the man-things are so not-simple that sometimes I forget why I am hunting. Trolls hunt things-to-eat. The man-things hunt thought.'

Ulath was a bit startled at the Troll's perception. ‘It is my thought that your thought may be good,' he admitted. ‘The man-things
do
hunt thought. We put much value on it.'

‘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.'