The Hidden City (59 page)

‘A lantern, my Queen – well hidden.'

‘A lantern? That's all?'

‘If Khalad-squire was right, it should be enough. I closed the lantern so that the Klæl-beasts will see no light when they open their steel door to come out again. All unseen, their air will join with ours, and the mix will find its way to the candle burning inside my lantern. Then we will discover if Khalad-squire was right.'

‘Then we must wait until they open that door. I will not leave them behind us until I know without any doubt that this burning of air will kill them. As Ulath-Knight says, only a fool leaves live enemies behind him.'

They concealed themselves behind an outcropping of rock and waited, intently watching the cave-mouth faintly visible in the light of the stars. ‘It may be some time before they open their door, my Queen,' Engessa noted.

‘Engessa-Atan,' Betuana said firmly, ‘I have long thought that this formality of yours is out of place. We are soldiers, and comrades. Please address me as such.'

‘As you wish, Betuana-Atana.'

They waited patiently, watching the sizeable peak and the dark mouth of the cave. Then, like a deep, subterranean thunder, a stunning sound shattered the silence, shaking the ground, and a great billow of boiling fire blasted out of the cave-mouth, searing the few scrubby thorn-bushes growing nearby. The fire spewed out of the cave for what seemed hours, and then it gradually subsided.

Engessa and his Queen, shocked by that violent eruption, could only stare in wonder. Finally, Betuana rose to her feet. ‘Now I have seen air burn,' she noted in a cool sort of way. ‘It was worth the wait, I suppose.'
Then she smiled at her still-shaken comrade. ‘You lay good traps, Engessa-Atan, but now we must hurry to rejoin the Trolls. Ulath-Knight says that we must reach Cyrga by morning.'

‘Whatever you say, Betuana-Atan,' he replied.

‘When I say, “lift”,' Sparhawk instructed, settling his hands into place around the ring, ‘and don't let it clank when we set it down. All right, lift.'

Kalten, Bevier, Mirtai, and Sparhawk all rose slowly, straining to lift the rusty iron plate up out of its place among the worn cobblestones.

‘Be careful,' Talen said to Mirtai. ‘Don't fall in.'

‘Do you want to do this?' she asked.

The four of them shuffled around slightly and moved the ponderous weight to one side so that the large square hole was partially uncovered. ‘Set it down,' Sparhawk said from between his clenched teeth. ‘Easy,' he added.

They slowly lowered the cover to the stones.

‘It'd be easier to pick up a house,' Kalten wheezed.

‘Turn your backs,' Flute instructed.

‘Do you have to do that?' Talen asked. ‘Is it like flying?'

‘Just turn around, Talen.'

‘Don't forget the clothes,' Sparhawk told her.

‘They'd just be in my way. If you don't like it, don't look.' Her voice was already richer.

Bevier had his eyes tightly closed, and his lips were moving. He was obviously praying – very hard.

‘I'll be right back,' the Goddess promised. ‘Don't go away.'

They waited for what seemed to be hours. Then they heard a faint splashing down below. The splashing was accompanied by muffled laughter.

Talen knelt at the edge of the rectangular shaft. ‘Are you all right?' he whispered.

‘Im fine.'

‘What's so funny?'

‘The Cyrgai. You wouldn't
believe
how stupid they are.'

‘What did they do now?'

‘The water comes from a large artesian spring right near the outer wall. The Cyrgai built a sort of cistern around it. Then they built a tunnel that goes under the inner wall to carry water to a very large pool that lies underneath the mountain they've built their main city on.'

‘What's wrong with that?'

‘Nothing – as far as it goes. They seem to have realized the same thing that Bevier did. Their water-source is a weakness. They very carefully built a stone lattice at the mouth of the tunnel. Nobody can get into the tunnel from the cistern.'

‘I still don't see anything to laugh about.'

‘I'm just coming to that. This shaft that leads down to the tunnel seems to have been added later – probably so that they could get into the tunnel to clean it.'

‘That doesn't sound like such a bad idea. It
is
supposed to be drinking water, after all.'

‘Yes, but when they dug the shaft, they forgot something. The other end of the tunnel – the one that's inside their second wall – is completely open. There aren't any bars, no lattice, no chains, nothing.'

‘You're not serious!'

‘May muh tongue turn green iff'n I ain't.'

‘This is going to be easier than I thought,' Kalten said. He leaned over and peered down into the darkness. ‘Is that current very swift?' he called down softly.

‘Swift enough,' Aphrael replied. ‘But that's all right. It speeds you right straight through, so you won't have to hold your breath so long.'

‘Do what?' His voice was choked.

‘Hold your breath. You have to swim under water.'

‘Not me,' he said flatly.

‘You
do
know how to swim, don't you?'

‘I can swim in full armor if I have to.'

‘What's the problem, then?'

‘I
don't
swim under water. It sends me into a panic.'

‘He's right, Aphrael,' Sparhawk called down softly. ‘As soon as Kalten's head goes under water, he starts screaming.'

‘He can't do that. He'll drown.'

‘Exactly. I used to have to stand on his chest to squeeze the water out of him. It happened all the time when we were boys.'

‘Oh, dear,' she said. ‘I hadn't counted on this.'

The moon was almost full, and it stained the eastern horizon before it rose in a pallid imitation of dawn. It slid slowly into view, rising ponderously above the brittle white salt-flats.

‘Good God!' Berit exclaimed, staring at the horror all around them. What had seemed to be round white rocks by the faint light of the stars were revealed as bleached skulls, nesting in jumbles of bones and staring in mute accusation at the heavens.

‘It looks as if we've come to the right place,' Khalad observed. ‘The note Sparhawk left us talked about a “Plain of Bones”.'

‘It goes on forever!' Berit gasped, looking off toward the west.

‘Let's hope not. We have to cross it.' Khalad stopped, peering intently toward the west. ‘There it is,' he said, pointing at a gleaming spot of reflected light in the center of a low range of dark hills some distance beyond the ghastly plain.

‘There what is?'

‘Our landmark. Sparhawk called it the “Pillars of Cyrgon”. Something out there's catching the moonlight. We're supposed to ride toward that spot.'

‘Who's that?' Berit hissed, pointing at a figure walking toward them out of the bone-littered desert.

Khalad loosened his sword in its sheath. ‘Another note from Krager, maybe,' he muttered. ‘Let's start being a little careful, my Lord. I think we're getting very close to the place where we'll have outlived our usefulness.'

The figure coming out of the desert seemed to be moving at no more than a casual stroll, and as he came closer, they were able to make out his features.

‘Watch yourself, Khalad!' Berit hissed sharply. ‘He's not human!'

Khalad felt it as well. It was nothing really definable, just an overpowering sense of presence, an aura that no human had. The figure appeared to be that of an extraordinarily handsome young man. He had tightly-curled hair, classic features and very large, almost luminous eyes. ‘Ah, there you are, gentlemen,' he said urbanely in flawless Elenic. ‘I've been looking all over for you.' He glanced around. ‘This is a really
wretched
place, don't you think? Exactly the sort of place you'd expect the Cyrgai to inhabit. Cyrgon's terribly warped. He adores ugliness. Have you ever met him? Frightful fellow. No sense of beauty whatsoever.' He smiled, a radiant, slightly vague smile. ‘My cousin Aphrael sent me. She'd have come herself, but she's a little busy right now – but then, Aphrael's
always
busy, isn't she? She can't stand to just sit quietly.' He frowned. ‘She wanted me to tell you something.' His frown intensified. ‘What was it now? I have the worst memory lately.' He held up one hand. ‘No,' he said, ‘don't tell me. It'll come to me in a moment. It's terribly important, though, and we're supposed to hurry. I'll probably think of it as we go along.' He looked around. ‘Do you gentlemen by any chance happen to know which way we're supposed to go?'

‘It won't work, Aphrael,' Kalten said morosely. ‘I've tried it when I was dead drunk and the same thing happens. I go crazy when I feel the water closing over my head.'

‘Just try it, Kalten,' the minimally dressed Goddess urged. ‘It really will relax you.' She pushed the tankard into his hand.

He sniffed suspiciously. ‘It
smells
good. What is it?'

‘We drink it at parties.'

‘The beer of the Gods?' His eyes brightened. ‘Well, now.' He took a cautious sip.
‘Well
now,' he said enthusiastically. ‘That's the way it's
supposed
to taste.'

‘Drink it all,' she instructed, watching him intently.

‘Gladly.' He drained the tankard and wiped his lips. ‘That's
really
good. If a man had the recipe for
that,
he could –' he broke off, his eyes glazed.

‘Lay him down,' Aphrael ordered. ‘Quickly, before he stiffens up. I don't want him all twisted into a pretzel when I drag him through the tunnel.'

Talen was doubled over with both hands tightly over his mouth to stifle his laughter.

‘What's
your
problem?' the Goddess demanded tartly.

‘Nothing,' he gasped. ‘Nothing at all.'

‘I've got a long way to go with that one,' Aphrael muttered to Sparhawk.

‘Is this going to work?' Sparhawk asked her. ‘Kalten, I mean? Can you really drag an unconscious man underwater for any distance without drowning him?'

‘I'll stop his breathing.' She looked around at the others. I don't want any of you to try to help me,' she cautioned. ‘You just concentrate on getting through yourselves. I don't have to breathe, but you do, and I don't want to have to spend an hour fishing you out of that pool one by one after we get there. Now, does anybody
else
have any problems you haven't told me about? This is the time to talk about them –
before
we're all under water.' She looked pointedly at Bevier. ‘Is there something
you'd
like to tell me, Sir Knight? You seem to be having a crisis of some sort.'

‘It's nothing, Divine One,' he mumbled. ‘I'll be fine. I swim like a fish.' He deliberately avoided looking at her.

‘What's bothering you, then?'

‘I'd really rather not say.'

She sighed. ‘Men.' Then she climbed into the shaft leading down toward the unseen water rushing toward the inner wall. ‘Bring Kalten,' she ordered, ‘and let's get at this.'

‘I'd really like to do something about that,' Sephrenia murmured to Vanion as they peered over the top of the gravel mound at the encampment of the slavers.

‘So would I, love,' Vanion replied, ‘but I think we'd better wait until later. If everything goes the way it's supposed to, we'll be waiting for them when they reach Cyrga.' He raised himself a bit higher. ‘I think that's the salt-flats just beyond that trail they're following.'

‘We'll be able to tell for certain when the moon rises,' she replied.

‘Have you heard anything at all from Aphrael?'

‘Nothing I can make any sense of. The echoes are very confusing when she's in two places at the same time. I gather that things are coming to a head in Matherion, and she and Sparhawk are swimming.'

‘Swimming? This is a desert, Sephrenia.'

‘Yes, I noticed that. They've found
something
to swim in, though.' She paused. ‘Does Kalten know how to swim?' she asked.

‘He splashes a great deal, but he manages to drag himself through the water. I wouldn't call him graceful, by any means. Why do you ask?'

‘She's having some sort of problems with him, and it has to do with swimming. Let's go back and join the others, dear one. Just the sight of those slavers is setting my blood to boiling.'

They slid back down the gravel-strewn mound and walked along a shallow gully toward their armored soldiers.

The Cyrinic knight, Sir Launesse, stood somewhat
diffidently beside a burly, intricately curled and massively eyebrowed personage with heavy shoulders and a classical demeanor. ‘Sephrenia!' the clearly non-human being said in a voice that could probably have been heard in Thalesia. ‘Well-met!'

‘Well-met indeed, Divine Romalic,' she replied with just a trace of a weary sigh.

‘Please, dear,' Vanion murmured, ‘ask him to lower his voice.'

‘Nobody else can hear him,' she assured him. ‘The Gods speak loudly – but only to certain ears.'

‘Thy sister bids me give thee greetings,' Romalic announced in a voice of thunder.

‘Thou art kind to bear those greetings, Divine One.'

‘Kindness and courtesy aside, Sephrenia,' the huge God declaimed, combing his beard with enormous fingers, ‘art thou yet prepared to serve us all and to assume thy proper place?'

‘I am unworthy, Divine One,' she replied modestly. ‘Surely there are others wiser and better suited.'

‘What's this?' Vanion asked.

‘It's been going on for a long time, dear one,' she explained. ‘I've been avoiding it for centuries. Romalic always has to bring it up, though.'