CHAPTER 30

Captain Jodral returned just after dark, his loose robe flapping and his eyes wide as he desperately flogged at his horse.

‘We’re doomed, my General!’ he shrieked.

‘Get control of yourself Jodral!’ general Piras snapped. ‘What did you see?’

‘There are millions of them, General!’ Jodral was still on the verge of hysteria.

‘Jodral, you’ve never seen a million of anything. Now, what’s out there?’

‘They’re coming across the Sama, General,’ Jodral replied, trying his best to control his quavering voice.

‘The reports about that fleet are true. I saw the ships.’

‘Where? We’re ten leagues from the coast.’

‘They’ve sailed up the River Sama, General Piras, and they’ve lashed their ships together side by side to form bridges.’

‘Absurd. The Sarna’s five miles wide down here! Talk sense, man!’

‘I know what I saw, General. The other scouts will be along shortly to confirm it. Kaftal’s in flames. You can see the light of the fire from here.’ Jodral turned and pointed south toward a huge, flickering orange glow in the sky above the low coastal hills standing between the Cynesgan forces and the sea. General Piras swore. This was the third time this week that his scouts had reported a crossing of the lower Sama or the Verel River, and he had not thus far seen any sign of hostile forces. Under normal circumstances, he’d have simply had his scouts flogged or worse, but these were not normal circumstances. The enemy force that had been harrying the southern was made up of the Knights of the Church of Chyrellos mers to a man - who were quite capable of vanishing and reappearing miles to his rear. Still muttering curses, he summoned his adjutant. ‘Sallat!’ he snapped. ‘Wake up the troops. Tell them to prepare themselves! If those accursed knights are crossing the Sama here, we’ll have to engage them before they can establish a foothold on this side of the river.’

‘Its just another ruse, my General,’ his adjutant said, looking at Captain Lodral with contempt. ‘Every time some idiot sees three fishermen in a boat, we get a report of a crossing.’ rivers.’ The General spread his hands helplessly.

‘What else can I do?’ He swore again. ‘Sound the charge, Sallat. Maybe this time we’ll find somebody real when we reach the river.’

Alcan was trembling violently when Zalasta returned the two captives to the small but now scrupulously clean cell following yet another of those hideous, silent interviews with the bat winged Klael, but Ehlana felt drained of all emotion. There was a perverse seductiveness to the strangely gentle probing of that intricate mind, and Ehlana always felt violated and befouled when it was over.

‘That will be the last time, Ehlana,’ Zalasta told her apologetically.

‘If it’s any comfort to you, he’s still baffled by your husband. He cannot understand how any creature with such power would willingly subordinate himself to -‘ He hesitated.

‘To a mere woman, Zalasta?’ she suggested wearily.

‘No, Ehlana, that’s not it. Some of the worlds Klael dominates are wholly ruled by females. Males are kept for breeding purposes only. He simply cannot understand the relationship between you and Sparhawk.’

‘You might explain the meaning of love to him, Zalasta.’ She paused. ‘But you don’t understand it yourself, do you?’

His face went cold. ‘Good night, your Majesty,’ he said in an unemotional tone. Then he turned and left the cell, closing and locking the door behind him. Ehlana had her ear pressed to the door before the

clanging of its closing had subsided.

‘I do not fear them,’ she heard King Santheocles declare.

‘Then you’re a bigger fool than I thought,’ Zalasta told him bluntly. ‘All of your allies have been systematically neutralized, and your enemies have you surrounded.’

‘We are Cyrgai,’ Santheocles insisted. ‘No one can stand against us.’

‘That may have been true ten thousand years ago when your enemies dressed in furs and charged your lines with flint-tipped spears. Now you face Church Knights armed with steel, you face Atan warriors who can kill your soldiers with their fingertips, you face Peloi who ride through your ranks like the wind, you face Trolls, who not only kill your soldiers, but also eat them. If that weren’t bad enough, you face Aphrael, who can stop the sun or turn you to stone. Worst of all, you face Anakha and Bhelliom, and that means that you face obliteration.’

‘Mighty Cyrgon will protect us.’ Santheocles’ voice was set in a wilful note of stubborn imbecility.

‘Why don’t you go talk with Otha of Zemoch, Santheocles?’ There was a sneer in Zalasta’s voice. ‘He’ll tell you how the Elder God Azash squealed when Anakha destroyed him.’ Zalasta suddenly broke off.

‘He comes!’ he choked. ‘Closer than we’d ever thought possible!’

‘What are you talking about?’ Ekatas demanded.

‘Anakha is here!’ Zalasta exclaimed. ‘Go to your generals, Santheocles. Tell them to call out their troops and order them to scour the streets of Cyrga, for Anakha is within your walls! Hurry, man! Anakha is here, and our deaths stalk the streets with him! Come with me, Ekatas! Cyrgon must be warned, and eternal Klael the night of decision is upon us!’

Elron ticked off the count on his fingers and swore. No matter how he slurred or compressed the words of that last line, it still had one beat too many. He hurled his quill-pen across the room and sank his face into his hands in an artful pose of poetic despair. Elron did that frequently when composing verse. Then he hopefully raised his face as a thought came to him He was nearing the final stanzas of his masterpiece, after all, and an Alexandrine would add emphasis. What would the critics say? Elron agonized over the decision. He cursed the day when he had chosen to cast the most important work of his career in heroic couplets. He hated iambics. They were so mercilessly regular and unforgiving, and pentameter was like a chain around his neck, jerking him up short at the end of every line. ‘Ode to Blue’ hung in the balance while her creator struggled with the sullen intransigencies of form and meter. Elron could not be sure how long the screaming had been going on or exactly when it had started. His mind, caught up in a creative frenzy, had blotted out everything external to that one maddeningly recalcitrant line. The poet rose irritably to his feet and went to the window to look out at the torch-lit streets of Natayos. What were they screaming about? Scarpa’s soldiers, ignorant, unwashed serfs for the most part, were running, bawling in terror like so many bleating sheep. What had set them off this time? Elron leaned slightly out to look back up the street. There seemed to be a different kind of light coming from the part of the ruined city that was still buried in tangled brush and creeping vines. Elron frowned. It was most definitely not torchlight. It seemed to be a pale white glow instead, steady, unwavering, and coming from dozens of places at the same time. Then Elron heard Scarpa’s voice rising over the screams. The crazy charlatan was shouting orders of some kind in his most imperial voice. The rabble in the streets, however, were ignoring him. The army was streaming along the cobbled streets of ruined Natayos toward the main gate, pushing, howling, jamming together and struggling to get through that hopelessly clogged gateway.

Beyond the gate, Elron saw winking torches streaming off into the surrounding jungle. What in God’s name was going on here?

Then his blood suddenly froze. He gaped in horror at the glowing figures emerging from the side-streets of the ruin to stalk implacably along the broad avenue that led to the gate. The Shining Ones who had depopulated Panem-Doa, Norenja and Synaqua had finally descended on Natayos! The poet stood frozen for only a moment, and then his mind moved more quickly than he’d have thought possible. Flight was clearly out of the question. The gate was so completely jammed that even those who had already reached it had little chance of forcing their way through. Elron dashed to his writing-table and swatted his

candle with the flat of his hand, plunging the room into darkness. If there were no lights in the windows of this upper floor, the horrors that stalked the streets would have no reason to search. Frantically, stumbling in the darkness, he ran from room to room, desperately searching for any other burning candles that might betray his location. Then, certain that he was safe for the moment at least, the one known throughout Astel as Sabre crept back to his room to fearfully peer around the edge of the window-frame at the street below. Scarpa stood atop a partially-collapsed wall issuing contradictory commands to regiments that evidently only he could see. His threadbare velvet cloak was draped over his shoulders and his makeshift crown was slightly askew. Not far from where he stood, Cyzada was saying something in his hollow voice - an incantation of some kind, Elron guessed and his fingers were weaving intricate designs in the air. Louder and louder he spoke in guttural Styric, summoning God only knew what horrors to face the silent, glowing figures advancing on him. His voice rose to a screech, and he pawed at the air, frantically exaggerating the gestures. And then one of the incandescent intruders reached him.

Cyzada screamed and flinched back violently, but it was too late. The glowing hand had already touched him. He reeled back as if that almost gentle touch had been some massive blow. Staggering, he turned as if to flee, and Elron saw his face. The poet retched, clamping his hands over his mouth to hold in any sound that might give away his presence. Cyzada of Esos was devolving. His already unrecognizable face was sliding down the front of his head like melted wax, and a rapidly-spreading stain was discoloring the front of his white Styric robe. He staggered a few steps toward the still-raving Scarpa, his arms reaching hungrily out toward the madman even as the flesh slid away from those skeletal, outstretched hands. Then the Styric slowly collapsed to the stones, bubbling, seething, his decaying body oozing out through the fabric of his robe.

‘Archers to the front!’ Scarpa commanded in his rich, theatrical voice. ‘Sweep them with arrows!’ Elron fell to the floor and scrambled away from the window.

‘Cavalry to the flanks!’ he heard Scarpa command. ‘Sabers at the ready!’

Elron crawled toward his writing-table, groping in the dark.

‘imperial guardsmen!’ Scarpa bellowed. ‘Quicktime, march!’ Elron found the leg of the table, reached up and frantically began grabbing at the sheets of paper lying on the table-top.

‘First Regiment - charge!’ Scarpa commanded in a great voice. Elron knocked over the table, whimpering in his desperate haste.

‘Second Regiment -‘ Scarpa’s voice broke off suddenly, and Elron heard him scream. The poet spread his arms, trying to gather the priceless pages of ‘Ode to Blue’ out of the darkness.

Scarpa’s voice was shrill now. ‘Mother!’ he shrieked. ‘Pleasepleaseplease!’ the resonant voice had become a kind of liquid screech. ‘Pleasepleaseplease!’ It sounded almost like a man trying to cry out from under water. ‘Pleasepleaseplease!’ And then the voice wheezed off into a dreadful gurgling silence.

Clutching the pages he had found, Sabre abandoned his search for any others, scurried across the room on his hands and knees, and hid under the bed.

Bhlokw’s expression was reproachful as he shambled back across the night-shrouded gravel.

‘Wickedness, U-lat,’ he accused. ‘We are pack-mates, and you said a thing to me that was not so.’

‘I would not do that, Bhlokw,’ Ulath protested. ‘You put the thought into my mindbelly that the big things with iron on their faces were good-to-eat. They are not goodto-eat.’

‘Were they bad-to-eat, Bhlokw?’ Tynian asked sympathetically.

‘Very bad-to-eat, Tin-in. I have not tasted anything so bad-to-eat before.’

‘I did not know this, Bhlokw,’ Ulath tried to apologize. ‘It was my thought that they were big enough that one or two might fill your belly.’

‘I only ate one,’ Bhlokw replied. ‘It was so bad-to-eat that I did not want to eat another. Not even Ogres would eat those, and Ogres will eat anything. It makes me not-glad that you said the thing that was not so to me, U-lat.’

‘It makes me not-glad as well,’ Ulath confessed. ‘I said a thing which I did not know. It was wicked of me to do this.’

Queen Betuana drew Tynian aside. ‘How long will it take us to reach the Hidden City, Tynian-Knight?’

she asked. ‘is your Majesty talking about how long it’s really going to take or how long it’s going to seem?’

‘Both.’

‘It’s going to seem like weeks, Betuana-Queen, but in actual time, it’ll be instantaneous. Ulath and I left Matherion just a few weeks ago in real time, but it seems that we’ve been on the road for nearly a year.

It’s very strange, but you get used to it after a while.’

‘We must start soon if we are to reach Cyrga by morning.’

‘Ulath and I’ll have to talk with Ghnomb about that. He’s the one who stops time, but he’s also the God of Eat. He may not be happy with us. The idea of letting the Trolls kill Klael’s soldiers was a good one, but Ghnomb expects them to eat what they kill, and they don’t like the taste.’

She shuddered. ‘How can you stand to be around the Troll-beasts, Tynian-Knight? They’re horrible creatures.’

‘They aren’t really so bad, your Majesty,’ Tynian defended them. ‘They’re very moral creatures, you know. They’re fiercely loyal to their own packs; they don’t even know how to lie; and they won’t kill anything unless they intend to eat it - or unless it attacks them. As soon as Ulath finishes apologizing to Bhlokw, we’ll summon Ghnomb and talk with him about stopping time so that we can get to Cyrga.’

Tynian made a face. ‘That’s what’s going to take a while. You have to be patient when you’re trying to explain something to the Troll-Gods.’

‘Is that what Ulath-Knight is doing?’ she asked curiously. ‘Apologizing?’

Tynian nodded. ‘It’s not as easy as it sounds, your Majesty. There’s nothing in Trollish that even comes close to “I’m sorry” probably because Trolls never do anything that they’re ashamed of.”

‘Will you be still?’ Liatris hissed at the protesting Gahennas. ‘They’re in the next room right now.’

The three empresses were hiding in a dark antechamber adjoining the Tegan’s private quarters. Liatris stood at the door with her dagger in her hand. They waited in tense apprehension.

‘They’re gone now,’ Liatris said. ‘We’d better wait for a little while, though.’

‘Will you please tell me what’s going on?’ Gahennas asked.

‘Chacole sent some people to kill you,’ Elysoun told her. ‘Liatris and I found out about it, and came to rescue you.’

‘Why would Chacole do that?’

‘Because you know too much about what she’s planning.’

‘That silly plan to implicate Cieronna in a spurious assassination plot?’

‘The plot wasn’t spurious, and Cieronna wasn’t even remotely connected with it. Chacole and Torellia are planning to kill our husband.’

‘Treason!’ Gahennas gasped. ‘Probably not. Chacole and Torellia are members of royal houses currently at war with the Tamul Empire, and they’re getting orders from home. The assassination of Sarabian could technically be called an act of war.’ Elysoun stopped as a wave of nausea swept over her. ‘Oh, dear,’ she said in a sick little voice.

‘What’s wrong?’ Liatris demanded.

‘It’s nothing. It’ll pass.’

‘Are you sick?’

‘Sort of. It’s nothing to worry about. I should have eaten something when you woke me up, that’s all.’

‘You’re white as a sheet. What’s wrong with you?’

‘I’m pregnant, if you really have to know.’

‘It was bound to happen eventually, Elysoun,’ Gahennas said smugly. ‘I’m surprised it didn’t happen earlier, the way you carry on. Have you any idea at all of who the father is?’

‘Sarabian,’ Elysoun replied with a shrug of her shoulders. ‘Do you think it’s safe to leave now, Liatris? I think we’d better get to our husband as quickly as we can. Chacole wouldn’t have sent people to kill Gahennas unless this was the night when she was planning her attempt on Sarabian.’

‘She’ll have people watching all the doors,’ Liatris said.

‘Not all the doors, dear,’ Elysoun smiled. ‘I know of at least three that she’s not aware of. You see, Gahennas, there are some advantages to having an active social life. Check the hallway, Liatris. Let’s get Gahennas out of here before Chacole’s assassins come back.’

The Cyrgai at the bronze gate stood back fearfully as Sparhawk led the others up the last few steps.

‘Ybin Cyrgon!’ the officer in charge said, smashing his fist against his breastplate in a kind of formal salute.

‘Respond, Anakha,’ Xanetia’s voice murmured in Sparhawk’s ear. ‘Tis customary.’

‘Ybin Cyrgon!’ Sparhawk said, also banging on his chest and being careful not to allow the cloak he’d removed from the unconscious Temple Guardsman to open and reveal the fact that he was wearing his mailshirt rather than an ornate breastplate.

The officer seemed not to notice. Sparhawk and the others marched through the gate and moved along a broad street toward a kind of central square.

‘Is he still watching?’ Sparhawk muttered.

‘Nay, Anakha,’ Xanetia replied. ‘He and his men have returned to the guardroom beside the gate.’

It had appeared from below that the only buildings within the walls at the summit of Cyrga were the fortress-palace and the temple, but that was not entirely true. There were other structures as well, low, utilitarian-looking buildings, storehouses for the most part, Sparhawk guessed. ‘Talen,’ he said back over his shoulder, ‘ease over to the side of the street. Find a door you can get open in a hurry. Let’s get out of sight while Xanetia scouts around.’

‘Right,’ Talen replied. He ducked into the shadows and a moment later they heard his whisper and quickly moved to the door he was holding open for them.

‘Now what?’ Kalten asked.

‘Xanetia and I go looking for Ehlana and Alcan,’ Aphrael’s voice replied out of the darkness.

‘Where were you?’ Talen asked curiously. ‘When we were coming up the hill, I mean?’

‘Here and there,’ she replied. ‘My family’s moving all the others into position, and I wanted to be sure everything’s going according to schedule.’

‘Is it?’

‘It is now. There were a couple of problems, but I took care of them. Let’s get at this, Xanetia. We still have a lot to do before morning.’

‘There they are,’ Setras said. ‘I wasn’t really all that far off was I?’

‘Are you sure this time?’ Bergsten demanded.

‘You’re cross with me, aren’t you, Bergsten?’

Bergsten sighed, and decided to let it pass. ‘No, Divine One,’ he replied. ‘We all make mistakes, I guess.’

‘That’s frightfully decent of you, old boy,’ Setras thanked him. ‘We were moving in generally the right direction. I was just off a few degrees, that’s all.’

‘Are you certain those are the right peaks this time, Divine One?’ Heldin rumbled.

‘Oh, absolutely,’ Setras said happily. ‘They’re exactly as Aphrael described them. You notice how they glow in the moonlight?’ Heldin squinted across the desert at the two glowing spires rearing up out of the dark jumble of broken rock.

‘They look about right,’ he said dubiously. I have to go find the gate,’ Setras told them. ‘It’s supposed to be exactly on a line from the gap between the two peaks.’

‘Are you sure, Divine One?’ Bergsten asked. ‘It’s that way on the south side, but do we know for certain that it’s the same here on the north?’

‘You’ve never met Cyrgon, have you, old boy? If there’s a gate on the south, there’ll be one on the north as well, believe me. Don’t go away. I’ll be right back.’ He turned and strolled off across the desert

toward the two peaks glowing in the moonlight. Atana Marts was standing to one side of Bergsten and Heldin with a slightly troubled look on her face.

‘What’s the matter, Atana?’ Heldin asked her.

‘I think there is something I do not understand, Heldin-knight.’ she replied, struggling to put her thought into Elenic.

‘The Setras person is a God?’

‘A Styric God, yes.’

‘If he is a God, how did he get lost?’

‘We’re not certain, Atana Mans.’

‘That is what I do not understand. If Setras-God were a man, I would say that he is stupid. But he is a God, so he cannot be stupid, can he?’

‘I think you’d better take that up with his Grace here,’ Heldin said.

‘I’m only a soldier. He’s the expert on theology.’

‘Thanks, Heldin,’ Bergsten said in a flat tone of voice.

‘If he is stupid, Bergsten-Priest, how can we be certain that he’s brought us to the right place?’

‘We have to trust Aphrael, Atana. Setras may be a little uncertain about things, but Aphrael isn’t, and she talked with him for quite some time, as I recall.’

‘Speaking slowly,’ Heldin added, ‘and using short, simple words.’

‘Is it possible, Bergsten-Priest?’ Mans asked insistently. ‘Can a God be stupid?’

Bergsten looked at her helplessly. ‘Ours isn’t,’ he evaded, ‘and I’m sure yours isn’t either.’

‘You didn’t answer my question, Bergsten.’

‘You’re right, Atana,’ he replied. ‘I didn’t - and I’m not going to, either. If you’re really curious, I’ll take you to Chyrellos when this is all over, and you can ask Dolmant.’

‘Bravely spoken, Lord Bergsten,’ Heldin murmured.

‘Shut up, Heldin.’

‘Yes, your Grace.’

Sparhawk, Bevier and Kalten stood at a small, barred window in the musty-smelling warehouse looking out at the fortress-like palace rearing above the rest of the city. ‘That’s really archaic,’ Bevier said critically.

‘It looks strong enough to me,’ Kalten said.

‘They’ve built the main structure of the palace right up against the outer wall, Kalten. It saves building two walls, but it compromises the structural integrity of the fortress. Give me a couple of months and some good catapults, and I could pound the whole thing to pieces.’

‘I don’t think catapults had been invented when they built it, Bevier,’ Sparhawk said. ‘It was probably the strongest fort in the world ten thousand years ago.’ He looked out at the gloomy, rearing pile. As Bevier had noted, the main structure was backed up against the wall that separated this part of Cyrga from the rest of the city. Shorter towers stair-stepped up to the large central tower that shouldered high above the rest of the palace and grew, or so it seemed, out of the wall itself. It appeared that the palace had not been built to look out over the city, but rather to face the white limestone temple. The Cyrgai clearly looked at their God, and turned their backs on the rest of the world. The door which Talen had unlocked to provide them entry into this storehouse creaked as it opened and then closed. Then the soft glow of Xanetia’s face once again dimly illuminated the area around her.

‘We’ve found them,’ the Child Goddess said as the Anarae set her down on the flagstoned floor.

Sparhawk’s heart leaped.

‘Are they all right?’

‘They haven’t been treated very well. They’re tired and hungry and very much afraid. Zalasta took them to see Klael, and that’s enough to frighten anybody.’

‘Where are they?’ Mirtai demanded intently.

‘At the very top of that highest tower at the back of the palace.’

‘Did you talk with them?’ Kalten asked intently.

Aphrael shook her head. ‘I didn’t think it was a good idea. What they don’t know about, they can’t talk about.’

‘Anarae,’ Bevier said thoughtfully, ‘would the soldiers in the palace let Temple Guardsmen move around freely in there?’

‘Nay, Sir Knight. The Cyrgai are much driven by custom, and Temple Guardsmen have little cause to enter the palace.’

‘I guess we can discard these, then,’ Kalten said, pulling off the ornate bronze helmet and dark cloak he had purloined in the lower city. He touched his cheek. ‘We still look like Cyrgai. We could steal some different uniforms and then just march in, couldn’t we?’

Xanetia shook her head. ‘The soldiers within the palace are all kinsmen, members of the royal clan, and are all known to one another. Subterfuge would be far too perilous.’

‘We’ve got to come up with a way to get into that tower!’ Kalten said desperately.

‘I already have,’ Mirtai told him calmly. ‘It’s dangerous, but I think it’s the only way.’

‘Go ahead,’ Sparhawk told her.

‘We might be able to sneak up through the palace, but if we’re discovered, we’d have to fight, and that’d put Ehlana and Alcan in immediate danger. ’

Sparhawk nodded bleakly. ‘It’s just too dangerous to risk,’ he agreed. ‘All right, then. If we can’t go through the palace, we’ll have to go up the outside.’

‘You mean climb the tower?’ Kalten asked incredulously.

‘It’s not as difficult as it sounds, Kalten. Those walls aren’t built of marble, so they aren’t smooth. They’re rough stone blocks, and there are plenty of hand-holds and places to put your feet. I could climb that back wall like a ladder, if I had to.’

‘I’m not really very graceful, Mirtai,’ he said dubiously. ‘I’ll do anything at all to rescue Alcan, but I won’t be much good to her if I make a misstep and fall five hundred feet into the lower city.’

‘We have ropes, Kalten. I’ll keep you from falling. Talen can scamper up a wall like a squirrel, and I can climb almost as well. If we had Stragen and Caalador along, they’d be halfway up the side of that tower by now.’

‘Mirtai,’ Bevier said in a pained voice, ‘we’re wearing mailshirts. Climbing a sheer wall with seventy pounds of steel hanging from your shoulders might be a little challenging.’

‘Then take the mailshirt off, Bevier.’

‘I might need it when I get up on top.’

‘No problem,’ Talen assured him. ‘We’ll bundle them all together and pull them up behind us. I do sort of like it, Sparhawk. It’s quiet, it’s fairly fast, and there probably won’t be any guards going hand-over-hand around the outside of the tower looking for intruders. Mirtai’s had training from Stragen and Caalador, and I was born for burglary. She and I can do the real climbing. We’ll drop ropes down to the rest of you at various stages along the way, and you can haul up the mailshirts and swords behind you. We can get to the top of that tower in no time at all. We can do it, Sparhawk. It’ll be easy.’

‘I can’t really think of any alternatives,’ Sparhawk conceded dubiously.

‘Let’s do it then,’ Mirtai said abruptly. ‘Let’s get Ehlana and Alcan out of there, and once they’re safe, we can start to take this place apart.’

‘After I get my real face back,’ Kalten added adamantly. ‘Alcan’s entitled to that much consideration.’

‘Let’s do that right now, Xanetia,’ Aphrael said. ‘Kalten will nag us about it all night if we don’t.’

‘Nag?’ Kalten objected.

‘What color was your hair again, Kalten? Purple, wasn’t it?’ she asked him with an impish little smile.