The Hidden City (34 page)

‘You're pathetically obvious, Scarpa,' Zalasta grated, his face only inches from his son's, ‘but your plan had one minor flaw. I may very well kill myself for what I did to Sephrenia, but I'll kill you first – just as unpleasantly as I possibly can. I may just kill you anyway. I don't really like you, Scarpa. I felt a certain responsibility for you, but that's a word you wouldn't understand.'
His eyes suddenly burned. ‘Your madness must be contagious, my son. I'm starting to lose my grip on sanity myself. You talked me into killing Sephrenia, and I loved her far more than I could ever love you.' He unhooked his fingers. ‘Run away, Scarpa. Pick up your cheap toy crown and run. I'll be able to find you when I decide to kill you.'

Scarpa fled, but Ehlana did not see him leave. Her eyes were filled with tears, and she turned from the window with a grief-stricken wail.

It was snowing in Sarna when Sparhawk woke the following morning, a thick, heavy snow that swirled and danced in the driving wind coming down out of the Atan mountains lying to the north. Sparhawk gazed sourly out of the window of his room in the barracks, then pulled on his clothes and went looking for the others.

He found Itagne sitting by the stove in the war-room with a sheaf of documents in his lap. ‘Something important?' he asked as he entered.

‘Hardly,' Itagne replied. He made a face and put the papers away. ‘I made a serious blunder last spring before Oscagne uprooted me and sent me to Cynestra. I was teaching a class in foreign relations at the University, and I slipped and said the fatal words, “write a paper”. Now I've got a bale of these things to plough through.' He shuddered.

‘Bad?'

‘Unbelievably so. Undergraduates should never be allowed to touch a quill-pen. So far I've encountered fifteen different versions of my own lecture notes – all couched in graceless, semi-literate prose.'

‘Where's Vanion?'

‘He's checking on his wounded. Have you seen Aphrael yet this morning?'

Sparhawk shook his head. ‘She could be anywhere.'

‘Did she actually fly you here from Dirgis?'

‘Oh, yes – and up from Beresa before that. It's an unusual experience, and it always starts with the same argument.'
Itagne gave him a questioning look.

‘She has to revert to her real form when she does it.'

‘Blazing light? Trailing clouds of glory, and all that?'

‘No, nothing like that. She always poses as a little girl, but that's a subterfuge. Actually, she's a young woman.'

‘What do you argue with her about?'

‘Whether or not she's going to wear clothes. The Gods evidently don't need them, and they haven't quite grasped the concept of modesty yet. She's a bit distracting when she first appears.'

‘I can imagine.'

The door opened, and Vanion came in, brushing the snow off the shoulders of his cloak.

‘How are the men?' Sparhawk asked him.

‘Not good,' the Preceptor replied. I wish we'd known more about Klæl's soldiers before we closed with them. I lost a lot of very good knights needlessly during that skirmish. If I'd had my wits about me, I'd have suspected something when they didn't pursue us after we broke off our attack.'

‘How long were you engaged?'

‘It seemed like hours, but it was probably no longer than ten minutes.'

‘When you get to Samar, you might want to talk with Kring and Tikume. We should try to get some idea of just how long those soldiers can function in our air before they start to collapse.'

Vanion nodded.

There was really nothing for them to do, and the morning dragged sluggishly by.

It was shortly before noon when Betuana, clad in close-fitting otterskin clothing, came running effortlessly out of the swirling snow. Her almost inhuman stamina was somehow unnerving. She seemed hardly winded and not even flushed as she entered the room
where they waited. ‘Invigorating,' she noted absently as she peeled off her outer garment. She took one lock of her night-dark hair and stretched it out to look critically at its sodden length. ‘Does anyone have a comb?' she asked.

They all started at the sound of a blaring trumpet fanfare from the other end of the room. They spun around and saw the Child Goddess. She was surrounded by a nimbus of pure light, she sat sedately in mid-air, and she was smiling sweetly at Sparhawk. ‘Is that sort of what you had in mind?' she asked him.

He cast his eyes upward. ‘Why me?' he groaned. Then he looked at her smiling little face. ‘I give up, Aphrael,' he said. ‘You win.'

‘Of course. I always win.' She gently settled to the floor, and her light dimmed. ‘Come here, Betuana. Let me comb that out for you.' She held out her hands, and a comb appeared in one and a brush in the other.

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.'