The Hidden City (2 page)

‘Yes,' someone shouted with heavy sarcasm, ‘we noticed that!'

‘I'm so happy for you,' Itagne murmured, drawing another loud laugh from the audience. To whom did our idiot Prime Minister turn for aid? To Zalasta, of course. And what was Zalasta's answer to the crisis? He urged us to send for the Pandion Knight, Prince Sparhawk of Elenia. Why would the name of an Elene nobleman leap to Zalasta's lips in answer to the question – almost before it was asked –
particularly
in view of the sorry record of the Elenes in their relations with the Styrics? To be sure, Prince Sparhawk's exploits are legendary, but what was it about the man that made Zalasta pine so for his company? And why was it that Zalasta neglected to tell us that Sparhawk is Anakha, the instrument of the Bhelliom? Did the fact somehow slip his mind? Did he think that the spirit which creates whole universes was somehow irrelevant? I find no mention at all about Bhelliom in this recently published heap of bird-droppings. Did you omit the most momentous event of the past eon deliberately? Were you so caught up in trying to give your adored Pondia Subat credit for policy decisions he had no part in that you decided not to mention Bhelliom at all?'

‘Balderdash!' a deep voice roared.

‘I'm pleased to meet you, Professor Balderdash. My name's Itagne. It was good of you to introduce yourself. Thanks awfully, old boy.'

The laughter was tumultuous this time.

‘Fast on his feet, isn't he?' Itagne heard Ulath murmur to Bevier.

Itagne looked up. ‘Colleagues,' he said, ‘I submit that it was
not
Prince Sparhawk that Zalasta so yearned for, but the Bhelliom. Bhelliom is the source of ultimate power, and Zalasta has been trying to get his hands on it for three centuries – for reasons too disgusting to mention. He has been willing to go to any lengths. He has betrayed his faith, his people, and his personal integrity – such as it was – to gain what the Trolls call “The Flower-Gem”.'

That tears it!' the corpulent Quinsal declared, rising to his feet. ‘This man is mad! Now he's talking about Trolls! This is an academic affair, Itagne, not the children's hour. You've picked the wrong forum for fairytales and ghost stories.'

‘Why don't you let me do this, Itagne?' Ulath said, rising to his feet and coming to the podium. I can settle this question in just a moment or two.'

‘Feel free,' Itagne said gratefully.

Ulath set one huge hand on each side of the lectern. ‘Professor Itagne has requested me to brief you gentlemen on a few matters,' he said. I take it that you're having some difficulties with the notion of Trolls.'

‘None at all, Sir Knight,' Quinsal retorted. ‘Trolls are an Elene myth and nothing else. There's no difficulty in that at all.'

‘What an amazing thing. I spent five years compiling a Trollish grammar. Are you saying that I was wasting my time?'

‘I think you're as mad as Itagne is.'

‘Then you probably shouldn't irritate me, should you? Particularly in view of the fact that I'm so much bigger than you are.' Ulath squinted at the ceiling. ‘Logic tells us that no one can prove a negative. Are you sure you wouldn't like to amend your statement?'

‘No, Sir Ulath. I'll stand by what I just said. There's no such thing as a Troll.'

‘Did you hear that, Bhlokw?' Ulath raised his voice slightly. This fellow says that you don't exist.'

There was a hideous roar in the corridor outside the auditorium, and the double doors at the rear splintered and crashed inward.

‘Stay calm!' Bevier hissed as Itagne jumped. ‘It's an illusion. Ulath's amusing himself.'

‘Would you like to turn around and tell me what you see at the back of the hall, Quinsal?' Ulath asked. ‘Exactly what would you call my friend Bhlokw there?'

The creature hulking in the doorway was huge, and its bestial face was contorted with rage. It stretched its paws forth hungrily. ‘Who has said this, U-Lat?' it demanded in a hideous voice. I will cause hurt to it! I will rip it to pieces and eat it!'

‘Can that Troll actually speak Tamul?' Itagne whispered.

‘Of course not,' Bevier smiled. ‘Ulath's getting carried away.'

The hideous apparition in the doorway continued to bellow horribly graphic descriptions of its plans for the faculty of the Contemporary History Department.

‘Were there any other questions about Trolls?' Ulath asked mildly, but none of the assembled academics heard him over all the shouts, screams and the tipping over of chairs.

It took the better part of a quarter of an hour to restore order once Ulath had dismissed his illusion, and when Itagne reapproached the lectern, the entire audience was huddled closely together near the front of the auditorium. ‘I'm touched by your eagerness to hear my every word, gentlemen,' Itagne smiled, ‘but I can speak loudly enough to be heard at the back of the hall, so you needn't draw so close. I trust that the visit of Sir Ulath's friend has cleared up the little misunderstanding about
Trolls?' He looked at Quinsal, who was still cowering on the floor, gibbering in terror. ‘Splendid,' Itagne said. ‘Briefly then, Prince Sparhawk came to Tamuli. Elenes are sometimes a devious people, so Sparhawk's wife, Queen Ehlana, proposed a state visit to Matherion and concealed her husband and his friends in her entourage. Upon their arrival, they almost immediately uncovered some facts which we had somehow overlooked. First, Emperor Sarabian actually has a mind; and second, the government led by Pondia Subat was in league with our enemies.'

‘Treason!' a thin, balding professor shrieked, leaping to his feet.

‘Really, Dalash?' Itagne asked. ‘Against whom?'

‘Why – uh -' Dalash floundered.

‘You still don't understand, do you gentlemen?' Itagne asked the faculty of Contemporary History. ‘The previous government has been overthrown – by Emperor Sarabian himself. Tamuli is now an Elene-style monarchy, and Emperor Sarabian rules by decree. The previous government – and its Prime Minister – are no longer relevant.'

‘The Prime Minister cannot be removed from office!' Dalash screamed. ‘He holds his position for life!'

‘Even if that were true, it suggests a rather simple solution to the problem, doesn't it?'

‘You wouldn't
dare!'

‘Not me, old boy. That's the Emperor's decision. Don't cross him, gentlemen. If you do, he'll decorate the city gates with your heads. Let's press on here. I'd like to cover a bit more ground before our customary recess. It was the aborted coup-attempt that finally brought things to a head. Pondia Subat was a party to the entire conspiracy and he fully intended to stand around wringing his hands while the drunken mob murdered all of his political enemies, evidently including the
Emperor himself. If Professor Dalash wants to scream “treason” he might take a look at that. We discovered much in the aftermath of that failed coup, not only concerning the treason of the Prime Minister, but of the Minister of the Interior as well. Most important, however, was the discovery that it had been
Zalasta
who had engineered the entire plot,
and
that he was secretly allied with Ekatas, High Priest of Cyrgon, the God of the supposedly extinct Cyrgai.

‘At this point Prince Sparhawk had no choice but to retrieve Bhelliom from its hiding place and to send to Chyrellos for reinforcements. He enlisted other allies as well, not the least of which were the Delphae – who
do
in fact exist in all their glowing horror.'

‘This is absurd!' Contemporary History's reigning bully-boy, the crude and muscular Professor Pessalt sneered. ‘Are we supposed to believe this nonsense?'

‘You've already seen a Troll this evening, Pessalt,' Itagne reminded him. ‘Would you like a personal visitation by a Shining One as well? I can arrange it, if you'd like – but outside, please. We'd never get rid of the stink if you were dissolved into a puddle of slime right here in front of the platform.'

Dean Altus cleared his throat meaningfully.

‘Yes sir,' Itagne assured him. ‘I'll just be a few more minutes.' He turned back to the audience. ‘Now then,' he continued quickly, ‘since the subject of the Trolls has come up again, we might as well go into that and clear it away once and for all. As you've noticed, the Trolls are real. They were lured to Tamuli from their home range in northern Thalesia by Cyrgon, who posed as one of their Gods. The
real
Troll-Gods have been imprisoned for eons, and Prince Sparhawk offered them an exchange – their freedom in return for their aid. He then led a sizeable force to northern Atan, where the misguided Trolls had been stirring up turmoil in hopes
of forcing the Atans to return to defend their homeland – which would have left us effectively defenseless, since the Atans comprise the bulk of our army. Sparhawk's move
seemed
to play right into the hands of our enemies, but when Cyrgon and Zalasta unleashed the Trolls, Sparhawk called forth their Gods to reclaim them. In desperation, Cyrgon reached back in time and produced a huge army of his Cyrgai. Then the Trolls, true to their nature, ate them.'

‘You don't really expect us to swallow this, do you, Itagne?' Professor Sarafawn, Chairman of the Department of Contemporary History and brother-in-law of the Prime Minister, demanded scornfully.

‘You might as well, Sarafawn,' Itagne told him. ‘Your wife's brother isn't dictating official history any more. From now on, the Emperor wants us to give our students the plain, unvarnished truth. I'll be publishing a factual account in the next month or so. You'd better reserve a copy, Sarafawn, because you're going to be required to teach it to all your students in the future – assuming that you
have
a future at this institution. Next year's budget's going to be a little tight, I understand, so a number of departments will probably have to be dropped.' He paused. ‘Are you any good with tools, Sarafawn? There's a very nice little vocational school at Jura, I hear. You'd just
love
Daconia.'

The Dean cleared his throat again, a bit more urgently this time.

‘Sorry, Dean Altus,' Itagne apologized. ‘I'm running past time, gentlemen, so I'll just briefly sum up one more development. Despite their crushing defeat, Cyrgon and Zalasta were by no means powerless. In a bold stroke, Zalasta's natural son, one Scarpa, crept into the imperial compound and abducted Queen Ehlana, leaving behind a demand that Sparhawk give up the Bhelliom in exchange for the safe return of his wife.

‘Following the recess Dean Altus has been so patiently awaiting, I will take up Prince Sparhawk's reaction to this new development.'

A chill haze was rising from the meadow, and thin clouds had drifted in from the west to obscure the cold, brittle sky. There were no shadows, and the frozen ground was iron-hard and unyielding. Winter was inexorably tightening its grip on the North Cape.

Sparhawk's army, girt in steel and leather and thousands strong, was lined up along a broad front in the frost-covered grass of the meadow near the ruins of Tzada. Sir Berit sat his horse in the center of the bulky, armored Church Knights watching the ghastly feast taking place a few hundred yards to the front. Berit was a young and idealistic knight, and he was having some difficulty with the behavior of their new allies.

The screams were remote, mere rumors of agony, and those who were screaming were not actually people -not really. They were no more than shades, the scarce-remembered reflections of long-dead men. Besides, they were enemies – members of a cruel and savage race that worshipped an unspeakable God.

But they steamed. That was the part of the horror Sir Berit could not shrug off. Though he told himself that these Cyrgai were dead – phantoms raised by Cyrgon's magic – the fact that steam rose from their eviscerated bodies as the ravening Trolls fed on them brought all of Berit's defenses crashing down around his ears.