The Hidden City (50 page)

Torellia giggled.

‘Here comes Gahennas,' Chacole hissed.

The jug-eared Tegan Empress, covered to the chin in scratchy wool, approached them with a disapproving expression, an expression that came over her face every time she so much as looked at the barely dressed Elysoun. ‘Ladies,' she greeted them with a stiff little nod.

‘Join us, Gahennas,' Chacole invited. ‘We're discussing politics.'

Gahennas' bulging eyes brightened. Tegans lived and breathed politics.

‘Chacole and Torellia want to get up a petition to our husband,' Elysoun said. She raised her arms and yawned deeply, stretching back and literally thrusting her bare breasts at Gahennas.

Gahennas quickly averted her eyes.

‘I'm sorry, ladies,' Elysoun apologized. I didn't get much sleep last night.'

‘How do you find enough hours in the day?' Gahennas asked spitefully.

‘It's only a matter of scheduling, Gahennas,' Elysoun
shrugged. ‘You can get all sorts of things accomplished if you budget your time. Why don't we just drop it, dear? You don't approve of me, and I don't really care. We'll never understand each other, so why waste our time trying?'

‘You can go anywhere in the imperial compound you want to, can't you, Elysoun?' Chacole asked rather tentatively.

Elysoun feigned another yawn to conceal her smile. Chacole had finally gotten to the point. Elysoun had wondered how long it was going to take. ‘I can come and go more or less as I choose,' she replied. ‘I guess all the spies got tired of trying to keep up with me.'

‘Do you suppose I could ask a favor of you?'

‘Of course, dear. What do you need?'

‘Cieronna doesn't like me, and her spies follow me everywhere I go. I'm involved in something at the moment I'd rather she didn't find out about.'

‘Why Chacole! Are you saying that you've finally decided to go a little further afield for entertainment?'

The Cynesgan Empress gave her a blank stare, obviously missing her point.

‘Oh, come now, dear,' Elysoun said slyly. ‘We all have our little private amusements here inside the Women's Palace – even Gahennas here.'

‘I most certainly do
not!'
The Tegan protested.

‘Oh,
really,
Gahennas? I've seen that new page-boy of yours. He's absolutely luscious. Who's
your
new lover, Chacole? Some husky young lieutenant in the Guards? Did you want me to smuggle him into the palace for you?'

‘It's nothing like that, Elysoun.'

‘Of
course
it isn't,' Elysoun agreed with heavy sarcasm. ‘All right, Chacole. I'll carry your love-notes for you – if you're really sure you trust me that close to him. But why go so far afield, sister dear? Gahennas
has this lovely young page-boy, and I'm sure she's trained him very well – haven't you, Gahennas?' She raised one mocking eyebrow. Tell me, dear,' she added, ‘was he a virgin? – Before you got your hands on him, I mean?'

Gahennas fled with Elysoun's mocking laughter following after her.

‘It's supposed to be two words,' Kalten insisted that afternoon some miles outside Vigayo. ‘Ram's. Horn. Two words.'

‘It's a password, Sir Kalten,' Talen tried to explain. ‘“Ramshorn”. Like that.'

‘What do
you
say, Sparhawk?' Kalten asked his friend. ‘Is it one word or two?' The three of them had just finished piling rocks in a rough approximation of a grave at the side of the trail, and Talen and Kalten were arguing about the crude marker the boy had prepared.

‘What difference does it make?' Sparhawk shrugged.

‘If it's spelled wrong, Berit might not recognize it when he rides by,' Talen said.

‘He'll recognize it,' Sparhawk disagreed. ‘Berit's quick. Just don't disturb the arrangement of those yellow rocks on the top of the grave.'

‘Are you sure Khalad will understand what those rocks mean?' Talen asked skeptically.

‘Your father would have,' Sparhawk replied, ‘and I'm sure he taught Khalad all the usual signals.'

‘I still say it's supposed to be two words,' Kalten insisted.

‘Bevier,' Sparhawk called.

The Cyrinic Knight walked back to the imitation grave with an enquiring expression.

‘These two are arguing about how to spell “ramshorn”,' Sparhawk told him. ‘You're the scholar.
You
settle it.'

‘I say he spelled it wrong,' Kalten said truculently. ‘It's supposed to be two words, isn't it?'

‘Ah …' Bevier said evasively, ‘there are two schools of thought on that.'

‘Why don't you tell them about it as we ride along?' Mirtai suggested.

Sparhawk looked at Xanetia. ‘Don't,' he warned her quietly.

‘What wouldst thou not have me do, Anakha?' she asked innocently.

‘Don't laugh. Don't even smile. You'll only make it worse.'

It may or may not have been three weeks later. Patriarch Bergsten had given up on trying to keep track of actual time. Instead he glared in sullen theological discontent at the mud-walled city of Cynestra and at the disgustingly young and well-conditioned person coming toward him. Bergsten believed in an orderly world, and violations of order made him nervous.

She was very tall and she had golden skin and night-dark hair, she was also extremely pretty and superbly muscled. She emerged from the main gate of Cynestra under a flag of truce, running easily out to meet them. She stopped some distance to their front, and Bergsten, Sir Heldin, Daiya, and Neran, their Tamul translator, rode forward to confer with her. She spoke at some length with Neran.

‘Keep your eyes where they belong, Heldin,' Bergsten muttered.

‘I was just –'

‘I know what you were doing. Stop it.' Bergsten paused. ‘I wonder why they sent a woman.'

Neran, a slender Tamul who had been sent along by Ambassador Fontan, returned. ‘She's Atana Maris,' he told them. ‘Commander of the Atan garrison here in Cynestra.'

‘A
woman?'
Bergsten was startled.

‘It's not uncommon among the Atans, your Grace. She's been expecting us. Foreign Minister Oscagne sent word that we were coming.'

‘What's the situation in the city?' Heldin asked.

‘King Jaluah's been quietly dribbling troops into Cynestra for the past month or so,' Neran replied. ‘Atana Maris has a thousand Atans in her garrison, and the Cynesgans have been trying to restrict their movements. She's been growing impatient with all of that. She probably would have moved against the royal palace a week ago, but Oscagne instructed her to wait until we arrived.'

‘How did she get out of the city?' Heldin rumbled.

‘I didn't ask her, Sir Heldin. I didn't want to insult her.'

‘What I meant was, didn't they try to stop her?'

‘They're dead if they did.'

‘But she's a
woman!'
Bergsten objected.

‘You're not really familiar with the Atans, are you, your Reverence?' Daiya asked.

‘I've heard of them, friend Daiya. The stories all seem wildly exaggerated to me.'

‘No, your Reverence, they aren't,' Daiya said firmly. ‘I know of this girl's reputation. She's the youngest garrison commander in the entire Atan army, and she didn't get to where she is by being sweet and ladylike. From what I've heard, she's an absolute savage.'

‘But she's so pretty,' Heldin protested.

‘Sir Heldin,' Neran said firmly to him, ‘while you're admiring her, pay particular attention to the development of her arms and shoulders. She's as strong as a bull, and if you offend her in any way at all, she'll tear you to pieces. She almost killed Itagne – or so the rumor has it.'

‘The Foreign Minister's brother?' Bergsten asked.

Neran nodded. ‘He was here on a mission, and he
decided to place the city under martial law. He needed Atana Maris' help with that, so he seduced her. Her response was enthusiastic – but very muscular. Be very careful around her, gentlemen. She's almost as dangerous to have as a friend as an enemy. She asked me to give you your instructions.'

‘Instructions?'
Bergsten erupted. ‘I don't take orders from women!'

‘Your Grace,' Neran said, ‘Cynestra's technically still under martial law, and that puts Atana Maris in charge. She's been ordered to deliver the city to you, but she's instructed you to wait outside the walls until she's crushed all the resistance. She wants to present the city to you as a gift – all neat and tidy. Please don't spoil it for her. Smile at her, thank her politely, and wait right here until she's finished cleaning the streets. After she's got all the bodies stacked in neat piles, she'll invite you in and turn the city over to you – along with King Jaluah's head, more than likely. I know that the situation seems unnatural to you, but for God's sake don't do anything to offend her. She'll go to war with you just as quickly as with anybody else.'

‘But she's so pretty,' Heldin objected again.

Berit and Khalad dismounted and led their horses down to the edge of the oasis to water them. In theory, they
might
have reached Vigayo this soon. ‘Can you tell if he's here?' Khalad muttered.

Berit shook his head. ‘I
think
that means that he's not a Styric. We'll just have to wait for him to come to us.' He looked around at the few white-walled houses shaded by low palm trees. ‘Is there any kind of inn here?'

‘Not very likely. I see a lot of tents on the other side of the oasis. I'll ask around, but don't get your hopes up.'

Berit shrugged. ‘Oh, well. We've lived in tents before. Find out where we're permitted to set up.'

The village of Vigayo itself was clustered along the eastern side of the oasis, and the informal encampment of nomads and merchants stretched along the west shore of what was actually a fair-sized pool of artesian water. Berit and Khalad picketed their horses, erected their tent near the water, and sat down in the shade to wait. ‘Can you tell if Sparhawk's around anyplace?' Khalad asked.

Berit shook his head. ‘He may have already passed through. Or he could be watching from one of the hills outside of town. He might not want people to know that he's here.'

It was an hour or so past sunset, and twilight was descending on the oasis when a Cynesgan in a loose-fitting striped robe approached their tent. ‘I'm supposed to ask if one of you might be named Sparhawk,' he said in a slightly accented voice.

Berit rose to his feet. ‘I might be named Sparhawk, neighbor.'

‘Might be?'

‘That's the way you phrased your question, friend. You've got a note for me. Why don't you just hand it over and be on your way? We don't really have anything else to talk about, do we?'

The messenger's face hardened. He reached inside his robe, took out a folded and sealed parchment, and negligently tossed it at Berit's feet. Then he turned and walked away.

‘You know, Berit,' Khalad said mildly, ‘sometimes you're even more abrasive than Sparhawk himself.'

Berit grinned. ‘I know. I'm trying to maintain his reputation.' He bent, picked up the parchment, and broke the seal. He removed the identifying lock of hair and quickly read the brief message.

‘Well?'Khalad asked.

‘Nothing very specific. It says that there's a caravan route running off to the northwest. We're supposed to follow that. We'll get further instructions along the way.'

‘Will it be safe to use the spell and talk with Aphrael once we get out of town?'

‘I think so. I'm sure she'd have told me if I wasn't supposed to use it here in Cynesga.'

‘We don't have much choice,' Khalad said. ‘We can't tell if Sparhawk's already been here, if he's here now, or if he's still on the way, and we've got to let him know about these new instructions.'

‘Do you think we ought to start out tonight?'

‘No. Let's not start floundering round in the dark. We might miss the trail, and there's nothing out in that desert but empty.'

‘I won't do anything to put Berit in any kind of danger,' Elysoun insisted a few days later. ‘I'm very fond of him.'

‘They found out that he was posing as Sparhawk quite some time ago, Elysoun,' Baroness Melidere told her. ‘You won't be putting him in any more danger than he's already in. Telling Chacole about his disguise will convince her that you've gone over to her side –
and
that you have access to important information.'

‘You might want to make them believe that your husband's totally smitten with you, Empress Elysoun,' Patriarch Emban added. ‘Let them think that he tells you everything.'

‘Are
you smitten with me, Sarabian?' Elysoun asked archly.

‘Oh, absolutely, my dear,' he smiled. ‘I adore you.'

‘What a nice thing to say.' She smiled warmly.

‘Later, children,' Melidere told them absently, her forehead furrowed with concentration. ‘At the same
time you tell Chacole about Berit's disguise, drop a few hints about a fleet of Church ships in the Gulf of Daconia. Stragen's been very carefully planting that particular lie, so let's give them some confirmation. After you tell them about Berit, they'll be inclined to believe your story about the fleet.' She looked at the Emperor. ‘Is there anything else we can give them that won't hurt us? Something they can verify?'

‘Does it have to be important?'

‘Not really, just something that's true. We need another truth to get the mix right.'

‘The mix?'

‘It's like a recipe, your Majesty,' she smiled. ‘Two parts truth to one part lie; stir well and serve. If you get the mix right, they'll swallow the whole thing.'