The Hidden City (27 page)

‘I've taken an oath.'

‘You took another one earlier, Lord Bergsten. You promised to defend the Church.
That
oath takes precedence in this situation.'

The hugely bearded and black-robed Archimandrite Monsel looked speculatively at the reluctant Thalesian. Then he spoke in a neutral sort of way. ‘Would you like an independent opinion, Bergsten?'

Bergsten scowled at him.

‘You're going to get it anyway,' the Astellian churchman said with unruffled calm. ‘Given the nature of our opponent, we're face to face with a “Crisis of the Faith”, and that suspends all the other rules. God needs your axe, Bergsten, not your theology.' He squinted at the Thalesian Patriarch. ‘You don't seem convinced,' he said.

‘I'm not trying to be offensive, Monsel, but “Crisis of the Faith” can't just be pulled out and dusted off whenever we want to bend some rules.'

‘All right, let's try this one then. This is Astel, and your Church at Chyrellos recognizes
my
authority here. As long as we're in Astel,
I
speak for God.'

Bergsten pulled off his helmet and absently polished the glossy black Ogre-horns on his sleeve. ‘Technically, I suppose,' he conceded.

‘Technicalities are the very soul of doctrine, your Grace.' Monsel's huge beard bristled with disputational fervor. ‘Do you agree that I speak for God here in Astel?'

‘All right, for the sake of argument, yes.'

‘I'm glad you agree; I'd hate to have to excommunicate you. Now then, I speak for God here, and God wants you to take command of the Church Knights. Go forth and smite God's enemies, my son, and may heaven strengthen your arm.'

Bergsten squinted out the window at the dirty-looking sky for a long moment, mulling the clearly specious argument over in his mind. ‘You take full responsibility, Monsel?' he asked.

‘I do.'

‘That's good enough for me, then.' Bergsten crammed his helmet back on his head. ‘Sir Heldin, go tell the knights that I'm assuming command of the four orders. Instruct them to make all the necessary preparations. We march first thing in the morning.'

‘At once, General Bergsten,' Heldin replied, coming to attention.

‘Anakha,' Bhelliom's voice echoed in the vaults of Sparhawk's mind, ‘thou must awaken.'

Even before he opened his eyes, Sparhawk could feel a light touch on the thong about his neck. He caught the little hand and opened his eyes. ‘What do you think you're doing?' he demanded of the Child Goddess.

‘I
have
to have the Bhelliom, Sparhawk!' Her voice was desperate, and her eyes were streaming tears.

‘What's going on, Aphrael? Calm down and tell me what's happened.'

‘Sephrenia's been stabbed! She's dying! Please, Sparhawk! Give me the Bhelliom!'

He came to his feet all in one motion. ‘Where did this happen?'

‘In Dirgis. She was getting ready for bed, and Zalasta came into her room. He stabbed her in the
heart,
Sparhawk!
Please, Father, give me the Bhelliom! I've got to have it to save her!'

‘She's still alive?'

‘Yes, but I don't know for how long! Xanetia's with her. She's using a Delphaeic spell to keep her breathing, but she's dying, my sister's dying!' She wailed and hurled herself into his arms, weeping uncontrollably.

‘Stop that, Aphrael! This isn't helping. When did this happen?'

‘A couple of hours ago. Please, Sparhawk! Only Bhelliom can save her!'

‘We
can't,
Aphrael! If we take Bhelliom out of that box, Cyrgon will know immediately that we're trying to trick him, and Scarpa will kill your mother!'

The Child Goddess clung to him, sobbing uncontrollably. ‘I
know!'
she wailed. ‘What are we going to do, Father? We
can't
just let her die!'

‘Can't
you
do something?'

‘The knife touched her heart, Sparhawk! I can't reverse that! Only Bhelliom has that kind of power!'

Sparhawk's soul seemed to shrivel, and he smashed at the wall with his fist. He lifted his face. ‘What can I do?' he hurled his voice upward. ‘What in God's name can I do?'

‘Compose thyself, Anakha!' Bhelliom's voice was sharp in his mind. ‘Thou wilt serve neither Sephrenia nor thy mate by this unseemly display!'

‘We have to
do
something, Blue Rose!'

‘Thou art not at this moment fit to decide. Thou must therefore be ruled by me. Go at once and do as the Child Goddess doth entreat thee.'

‘Thou wilt condemn my wife!'

‘That is not certain, Anakha. Sephrenia, however, doth linger on the brink of death. That much
is
certain. It is
her
need that is most pressing.'

‘No! I can't do that!'

‘Thou wilt obey me, Anakha! Thou art
my
creature, and therefore subject to
my
will! Go thou and do as I have commanded thee!'

Sparhawk dug into his sea-bag, throwing clothes on the floor.

‘What are you
doing?'
Aphrael demanded urgently. ‘We have to hurry!'

‘I've got to leave a note for Stragen, but I can't find any paper.'

‘Here.' She held out her hand, and a sheet of parchment appeared in it.

‘Thank you.' He took the parchment and continued to rummage in the bag.

‘Get
on
with it, Sparhawk.'

‘I need something to write with.'

She muttered something in Styric and handed him a quill and a small inkpot.

‘Vymer,' Sparhawk scribbled, ‘something's come up, and I'll be gone for a while. Keep Reldin out of trouble.' And he signed it, ‘Fron.' Then he laid it in the center of Stragen's bed.

‘Now
can we go?' she asked impatiently.

‘How are you going to do this?' He picked up his cloak.

‘We have to get out of town first. I don't want anybody to see us. What's the quickest way to the woods?'

‘East. It's about a mile to the edge of the forest.'

‘Let's go.'

They left the room, went down the stairs and on out into the street. Sparhawk picked her up and half-enfolded her in his cloak.

‘I can walk,' she protested.

‘Not without attracting attention, you can't. You're a
Styric, and people would notice that.' He started off down the street, carrying her in his arms.

‘Can't you go any faster?'

‘Just let me handle this part of it, Aphrael. If I start running, people will think I've stolen you.' He looked around to make sure no one on the muddy street was close enough to hear. ‘How are you going to manage this?' he asked her. There
are
people out there who can feel it when you tamper with things, you know. We don't want to attract attention.'

She frowned. ‘I'm not sure. I was upset when I came here.'

‘Are you
trying
to get your mother killed?'

‘That's a hateful thing to say.' She pursed her little mouth in thought. ‘There's always a certain amount of noise,' she mused.

‘I didn't quite follow that.'

‘It's one of the disadvantages of having our two worlds overlap the way they do. The sounds of one sort of spill over into the other. Most humans can't hear us – or feel us – when we move around, but
we
can definitely hear and feel each other.'

Sparhawk crossed the street to avoid a noisy brawl that had just erupted from a sailors' tavern. ‘If the others can hear you, how are you going to hide what you're doing?'

‘You didn't let me finish, Sparhawk. We're not alone here. There are others all around us – my family, the Tamul Gods, your Elene God, various spirits and ghosts, and the air's positively littered with the Powerless Ones. Sometimes they flock up like migrating birds.'

He stopped and stepped back to let a rickety charcoal wagon creak past. ‘Who are these “Powerless Ones”?' he asked her. ‘Are they dangerous?'

‘Hardly. They don't even really exist any more.
They're nothing but memories – old myths and legends.'

‘Are they real? Could I see them?'

‘Not unless you believe in them. They were Gods once, but their worshippers either died out or were converted to the worship of other Gods. They wail and flutter around the edges of reality without substance or even thought. All they have is need.' She sighed. ‘We go out of fashion, Sparhawk – like last year's gowns or old shoes and hats. The Powerless Ones are discarded Gods who shrink and shrink as the years go by until they're finally nothing at all but a kind of anguished wailing.' She sighed again. ‘Anyway,' she went on, ‘there's all this noise in the background, and it makes it very hard to concentrate or pick out specifics.'

They passed another smelly tavern loud with drunken song. ‘Is this noise something like that?' Sparhawk asked, jerking his head toward the singing. ‘Meaningless sound that fills up your ears and keeps you from hearing what you're really listening for?'

‘More or less. We have a couple of senses that you don't, though, so we know when others are around, for one thing, and we know when they're doing things – tampering, if you want to call it that – for another. Maybe I can hide what I'm doing in all that other noise. How much further do we have to go?'

He turned a corner into a quiet street. ‘We're coming to the edge of town now.' He shifted her in his arms and continued on up the street, walking a little faster now. The houses here on the outskirts of Beresa were more substantial, and they were set back from the streets in aloof, self-important pride. ‘After we go through the charcoal yards, we'll come to the woods,' he told her. ‘Are you
sure
this noise that I can't hear will be loud enough to hide your spells?'

‘I'll see if I can get some help. I just thought of something. Cyrgon doesn't know exactly where I am, and
it'll take him a little while to identify me and pinpoint my exact location. I'll ask some of the others to come here and have a party or something. If they're loud enough, and if I move fast enough, he won't even know that I've been here.'

There were only a few workmen tending the sullen fires in the charcoal yards that ringed Beresa, incurious men, blackened by their tasks and far gone with drink, who lurched around the smoky flames like hellish imps dancing on eternal coals. Sparhawk walked even faster now, carrying the distraught Child Goddess toward the shadowy edge of the tangled forest.

‘I'll need to be able to see the sky,' she told him. ‘I don't want any tree-limbs in my way.' She paused. ‘Are you afraid of heights?' she asked.

‘Not particularly, why?'

‘Just asking. Don't get excited when we start. I won't let anything happen to you. You'll be perfectly safe as long as I'm holding your hand.' She paused again. ‘Oh, dear,' she murmured. ‘I just remembered something.'

‘What?' He pushed aside a branch and slipped past it into the darkness of the forest.

‘I have to be real when I do this.'

‘What do you mean “real”? You're real now, aren't you?'

‘Not exactly. Don't ask questions, Sparhawk. Just find me a patch of open sky and don't bother me for a while. I have to appeal for some help – if I can find them.'

He pushed through the tangled brush, a cold knot in his stomach and his heart like a stone in his chest. The hideous dilemma they faced tore at him, seeming almost to rip him apart. Sephrenia was dying, but he must endanger Ehlana in order to save her life. It was only the force of Bhelliom's will that kept him moving at all. His own will was paralyzed by the conflicting needs of the two he loved most in all the world. He pushed at
the tangle surrounding him in a kind of hopeless frustration.

Then he broke through the screen of brush into a small clearing carpeted by deep moss where a pool of water fed by a gurgling spring winked back at the stars strewn like bright grain across the velvet night. It was a quiet place, almost enchanted, but his eyes refused to accept its beauty. He stopped and set Aphrael down. Her small face was devoid of expression, and her eyes were blank, unseeing. Sparhawk waited tensely.

‘Well,
finally!'
she said at last in an exasperated tone of voice. ‘It's so hard to explain anything to them. They never stop babbling long enough to listen.'

‘Who's this we're talking about?'

The Tamul Gods. Now I can see why Oscagne's an atheist. I finally persuaded them to come
here
to do their playing. That should help to hide you and me from Cyrgon.'

‘Playing?'

‘They're children, Sparhawk, babies who run and play and squeal and chase each other for months on end. Cyrgon absolutely hates them, so he won't go anywhere near them. That should help. They'll be here in a few minutes, and then we'll be able to start. Turn your back, Father. I don't like having people watch me change.'

‘I've seen you before – your reflection anyway.'

‘That part doesn't bother me. The process of the changeover's a little degrading, though. Just turn your back, Father. You wouldn't understand.'

He obediently turned and gazed up at the night sky. Several familiar constellations were either missing or in the wrong places.

‘All right, Father, you can turn around now.' Her voice was richer and more vibrant.

He turned. ‘Would you
please
put some clothes on?'

‘Why?'

‘Just do it, Aphrael. Humor my quirks.'

‘This is so tedious.' She reached out and took hold of a gauzy kind of veil she had spun out of nothing and wrapped herself in it. ‘Better?' she asked.

‘Not much. Can we leave now?'

‘I'll check.' Her eyes went distant for a moment. ‘They're coming,' she reported. ‘They got side-tracked. It doesn't take much to distract them. Now, listen very carefully. Try to stay calm when we do this. Just keep the fact firmly in mind that I'm not going to let you get hurt. You won't fall.'