‘They’re breaking off!’ Endrik called from behind after about half an hour.
Vanion raised his steel-clad arm to call a halt. Then he reined in and looked back.
The masked giants had given up their pursuit and were running due west now, staggering toward an outcropping of rocky hills several miles away.
‘That’s the part that has everybody baffled,’ he told Sephrenia. ‘From what Aphrael told me, the others have encountered the same thing. Klæl’s soldiers chase after us for a while, and then they break off and run toward the nearest cluster of hills. What can they possibly hope to find that’s going to do them any good?’
‘I have no idea, dear one,’ she replied.
‘This is all very fine, I suppose,’ Vanion said with a worried frown, ‘but when we begin our final advance on Cyrga, we won’t have time to run those brutes into exhaustion. Not only that, Klæl will probably start massing them in units larger than these regiments we’ve been coming across out here in the open. If we don’t come up with some way to neutralize them permanently, our chances of getting to Cyrga alive aren’t very good.’
‘Lord Vanion!’ one of the knights cried out in alarm. ‘There are more of them coming!’
‘Where?’ Vanion looked around.
‘From the west!’
Vanion peered after the fleeing monsters. And then he saw them. There were two regiments of Klæl’s soldiers out there on the flats. The one they had encountered earlier was reeling and staggering toward the hills jutting up from the horizon. The other was coming toward them from the hills, and the second regiment showed no signs of the exhaustion which had incapacitated their fellows.
‘This is ridiculous,’ Talen muttered, examining the lock on his chain with sensitive fingertips.
‘You said you could unlock them,’ Kalten accused in a hoarse whisper.
‘Kalten, you could unlock these. They’re the worst locks I’ve ever seen.’
‘Just open them, Talen,’ Sparhawk told him quietly. ‘Don’t give lectures. We still have to get out of this pen.’
They had merged with the other woodcutters and had passed unchallenged through the gates of Cyrga just as the sun was setting. Then they had followed the slaves to an open square near the gate, unloaded their cart onto one of the stacks of wood piled there, and leaned the cart against a rough stone wall with the others. Then, like docile cattle, they had gone into the large slave-pen and allowed the Cynesgan overseers to chain them to rusty iron rings protruding from the rear wall of the pen.
They had been fed a thin, watery soup and had then bedded down in piles of filthy straw heaped against the wall to wait for nightfall. Xanetia was not with them. Silent and unseen, she roamed the streets outside the pen instead.
‘Hold your leg still, Kalten,’ Talen hissed. ‘I can’t get the chain off when you’re flopping around like that.’
‘Sorry.’
The boy concentrated for a moment, and the lock snapped open. Then he moved on, crawling through the rustling straw.
‘Don’t get so familiar,’ Mirtai’s voice muttered in the darkness.
‘Sorry. I was looking for your ankle.’
‘It’s on the other end of the leg.’
‘Yes. I noticed that myself. It’s dark, Atana. I can’t see what I’m doing.’
‘What are you men doing there?’ It was a whining, servile kind of voice coming from somewhere in the straw beyond where Kalten lay.
‘It’s none of your business,’ Kalten rasped. ‘Go back to sleep.’
‘I want to know what you’re doing. If you don’t tell me, I’ll call the overseers.’
‘You’d better shut him up, Kalten,’ Mirtai muttered. ‘He’s an informer.’
‘I’ll deal with it,’ Kalten replied darkly. He slipped away through the rustling straw.
‘What are you doing?’ the slave with the whining voice demanded. ‘How did you –’ The voice broke off, and there was a sudden thrashing in the straw and a kind of wheezy gurgling.
‘What’s going on out there?’ A harsh voice called from the overseer’s barracks. The barracks doorway poured light out into the yard.
There was no answer, only a few spasmodic rustles in the straw. Kalten was breathing a little hard when he returned to his place, quickly wrapped his chain around his ankle again and covered it with straw.
They waited tensely, but the Cynesgan overseer evidently decided not to investigate. He went back inside, closing the door behind him and plunging the yard into darkness again.
‘Does that happen often – among slaves, I mean?’ Bevier whispered to Mirtai as Talen was unchaining him.
‘All the time,’ she murmured. ‘There’s no loyalty among slaves. One slave will betray another for an extra crust of bread.’
‘How sad.’
‘Slavery? I could find harsher words than sad.’
‘Let’s go,’ Sparhawk told them.
‘How are we going to find Xanetia?’ Kalten whispered as they crossed the pen.
‘We can’t. She’s going to have to find us.’
It took Talen only a moment to unlock the gate, and they all slipped out into the dark street beyond. They crept along that street to the large square where the firewood was stacked and stopped before stepping out into the open.
‘Take a look, Talen,’ Sparhawk suggested.
‘Right.’ The young thief melted away into the darkness. The rest of them waited tensely.
‘It’s all clear,’ Talen’s whisper came to them after a few minutes. ‘The carts are over here.’
They followed the sound of his hushed voice and soon reached the line of wood-carts leaning against the wall.
‘Did you see any guards?’ Kalten asked.
‘Who’s going to stay up all night to guard a wood pile?’ Talen dropped down onto his stomach and wormed his way under the cart. There was a faint creaking of the tightly-woven limbs of the makeshift basket. ‘Here,’ Talen said. A sword-tip banged against sparhawk’s shin.
Sparhawk took the sword, handed it to Kalten and then leaned down. ‘Pass them out hilt-first,’ he instructed. ‘Don’t poke me with the sharp end of a sword that way.’
‘Sorry.’ Talen continued to pass out weapons and then followed them with their mail-shirts and tunics. They all felt better once they were armed again.
‘Anakha?’ The voice was soft and very light.
‘Is that you, Xanetia?’ Sparhawk realized how foolish the question was almost before it left his lips.
‘Verily,’ she replied. ‘Come away, I prithee. The whisper is the natural voice of stealth, and it doth carry far by night. Let us away ere they who watch this sleeping city come hither in search of the source of our incautious conversation.’
‘We’re going to have to wait a bit,’ Khalad said. ‘Aphrael has to blow air into that cave.’
‘Are you sure this is going to work?’ Berit asked dubiously.
‘No, not really, but it’s worth a try, isn’t it?’
‘You don’t even know for sure that they’re still inside the cave.’
‘That doesn’t really matter. Either way they won’t be able to hide in the cave any more.’ Khalad began to carefully wrap a length of oil-soaked rag around one of his crossbow bolts. Then, being careful to conceal the sparks with his body, he began striking his flint and steel together. After a moment, his tinder caught, he lit his stub of a candle, and brushed the fire out of his tinder. Then he carefully put the candle behind a fair-sized rock.
‘Aphrael seems to be unhappy about this, Khalad,’ Berit said as a chill breeze came up.
‘I wasn’t too happy about what happened to Lord Abriel either,’ Khalad replied bleakly. ‘I had a great deal of respect for that old man, and these monsters with yellow blood tore him to pieces.’
‘You’re doing this for revenge then?’
‘No. Not really. This is just the most practical way to get rid of them. Ask Aphrael to let me know when there’s enough air in the cave.�
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‘How long is that likely to take?’
‘I have no idea. All the coal-miners who’ve ever seen it up close are dead.’ Khalad scratched at his beard. ‘I’m not entirely sure what’s going to happen here, Berit. When marsh-gas catches on fire, it just burns off and goes out. Firedamp’s a little more spectacular.’
‘What’s all this business about blowing air into the cave?’ Berit demanded.
Khalad shrugged. ‘Fire’s a living thing. It has to be able to breathe.’
‘You’re just guessing about this, aren’t you? You don’t have any idea at all whether or not it’s going to work – or if it does, what’s going to happen.’
Khalad gave him a tight grin. ‘I’ve got a good working theory.’
‘I think you’re insane. You could set the whole desert on fire with this silly experiment of yours.’
‘Oh, that probably won’t happen.’
‘Probably?’
‘It's very unlikely. I can just make out that cave mouth. Why don’t I try it?’
‘What happens if you miss?’
Khalad shrugged. ‘I’ll shoot again.’
‘That’s not what I meant. I was –’ Berit broke off, listening intently. ‘Aphrael says that the mixture’s right now. You can shoot whenever you’re ready.’
Khalad held the point of his crossbow bolt in the candle-flame, turning it slowly to make certain that the oily rag was evenly ablaze. Then he set the burning bolt in place, laid the forestock of his crossbow on a rock, and took careful aim. ‘Here goes,’ he said, slowly pressing the lever.
The crossbow gave a ringing thud, and the burning arrow streaked through the darkness and disappeared into the narrow cave mouth.
Nothing happened.
‘So much for your good working theory,’ Berit said sardonically.
Khalad swore, banging his fist on the gravel. ‘It has to work, Berit. I did everything exactly –’
The sound was beyond noise when the hill exploded, and a ball of fire hundreds of feet across seethed skyward out of the crater that had suddenly replaced the hill. Without thinking, Khalad threw himself across Berit’s head, covering the back of his own neck with his hands.
Fortunately, what fell on them was small gravel for the most part. The larger rocks fell much further out into the desert.
It continued to rain gravel for several minutes, and the two young men, battered and shaken, lay tensely clenched, enduring the cataclysmic results of Khalad’s experiment.
Gradually, the stinging rain subsided.
‘You idiot!’ Berit screamed. ‘You could have killed us both!’
‘I must have miscalculated just a little,’ Khalad conceded, shaking the dirt out of his hair. ‘I’ll have to work on it a bit before we try it again.’
‘Try it again? What are you talking about?’
‘It does work, Berit,’ Khalad said in his most reasonable tone of voice. ‘All I have to do is fine-tune it a little bit. Every experiment’s got a few rough places around the edges.’ He stood up, banging the side of his head with the heel of his hand to shake the ringing out of his ears. ‘I’ll get it perfected, my Lord,’ he promised, helping Berit to his feet. ‘The next time won’t be nearly so bad. Now, why don’t you ask Aphrael to take us back to camp? We’re probably being watched, so let’s not arouse any suspicions.’
Chapter 28
‘We’re inside the city, Aphrael,’ Sparhawk announced silently after he had cast the spell.
‘How did you manage that?’ She sounded surprised.
‘It’s a long story. Tell Khalad that I’ve marked the passageway that leads into the valley. He’ll know what to look for.’
‘Have you found out where they’re keeping Mother yet?’
‘Speculatively.’
There was a long pause. ‘I’d better come there,’ she decided.
‘How will you find us?’
‘I’ll use you as a beacon. Just keep talking to me.’
‘I don’t think it’s a good idea. We’re right in Cyrgon’s lap here. Won’t he be able to sense you?’
‘Xanetia’s there, isn’t she?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then Cyrgon won’t feel a thing. That’s why I sent her along.’ She paused again. ‘Who came up with a way to get you inside the city?’
‘It was Talen’s idea.’
‘You see? And you wanted to argue with me about taking him with you. When will you learn to trust me, Father? Keep talking. I’ve almost got you located. Tell me how Talen managed to get you inside the walls of Cyrga.’
He described the subterfuge at some length.
‘All right,’ she said from just behind him. ‘That’s enough. I get the general drift.’ He turned and saw her in Xanetia’s arms. She looked around. ‘I see that the Cyrgai haven’t discovered fire yet. It’s darker than the inside of an old boot here. Exactly where are we?’
‘In the outer city, Divine One,’ Bevier said softly. ‘I suppose you could call it the commercial district. The slave-pens are here and various warehouses. It’s guarded by Cynesgans, and they’re not particularly alert.’
‘Good. Let’s get out of the street.’
Talen groped his way along one of the barn-like storehouses until he found a door. ‘Over here,’ he whispered.
‘Isn’t it locked?’ Kalten asked.
‘Not any more.’
They joined him and went inside.
‘Would you mind, dear?’ Aphrael asked Xanetia. ‘I can’t see a thing in this place.’
Xanetia’s face began to glow, a soft light that faintly illuminated the area around them.
‘What do they keep in here?’ Kalten asked, peering into the dimness. ‘Food maybe?’ His tone was hopeful. ‘That slop they fed us in the slave-pens wasn’t very filling.’
‘I don’t think it’s a food warehouse,’ Talen told him. ‘It doesn’t smell quite right.’
‘You can go exploring some other time,’ Aphrael told him crisply. ‘We have other things to do now.’
‘How are the others making out?’ Sparhawk asked her.
‘Bergsten’s captured Cynestra,’ she reported, ‘and he’s coming south with the Church Knights. Ulath and Tynian took the Trolls to Zhubay, and the Trolls ate about half of the Cynesgan cavalry. Betuana and Engessa are marching southwest with the Atans. Vanion and Sephrenia are out in the desert laying down false hints that you’re with them. Kring and Tikume are allowing themselves to be chased all over the desert west of Sarna by Cyrgai, Cynesgan cavalry, and Klæl’s overgrown soldiers – although I don’t think those brutes are going to be a problem for much longer. Khalad’s devised a way to neutralize them.’
‘All by himself?’ Talen sounded surprised.
‘Klæl outsmarted himself. He found caves where his soldiers could breathe, and they were hiding in the caves and then coming out to attack us. Khalad’s come up with a way to set the caves on fire. The results are fairly noisy.’
‘That’s my brother for you,’ Talen said proudly.
‘Yes,’ the Child Goddess said critically. ‘He’s inventing new horrors at every turn. Stragen and Caalador have managed to convince that Dacite in Beresa that we’ve got an invasion force off the south coast and –’ she stopped. ‘You know about all this already, Sparhawk. Why am I wasting time describing it to you?’
‘It’s all going according to plan, then?’ he asked her. ‘No setbacks? No new surprises?’
‘Not for us. Cyrgon’s not having such a good time, though. The Delphae have almost completely dispersed Scarpa’s army, so the danger to Matherion’s pretty much evaporated. I’ve enlisted some of my family to lend a hand. They’re compressing time and distance. As soon as Ehlana’s safe, I’ll pass the word, and we’ll have whole armies knocking at the gates of Cyrga.’
‘Did you get word of Khalad’s invention to the others?’ Talen asked her.
‘My cousin Setras is taking care of it for me. Setras is a little vague sometimes, but I wen
t over it with him several times. I don’t think he’ll garble it too badly. Everything’s in place. The others are simply waiting for word from us to start moving, so let’s get down to business. Has anyone had a chance to look around here at all?’
‘I have explored the outer city to some degree, Divine Aphrael,’ Xanetia replied. ‘Anakha deemed it unwise for me to share their captivity in the slave-pens.’
The Child Goddess handed Talen a large sheet of stiff, crackling parchment and a pencil. ‘Here,’ she said to him, ‘earn your keep.’
‘Where did you get these?’ he asked curiously.
‘I had them in one of my pockets.’
‘You don’t have any pockets, Flute.’
She gave him one of those long-suffering looks.
‘Oh,’ he said. I keep forgetting that for some reason. All right, Anarae, you describe the city, and I’ll draw it.’
The sketch that emerged was fairly detailed – as far as it went. ‘I was not able to penetrate the wall which doth encircle the inner city,’ Xanetia apologized. ‘The gates are perpetually locked, for the Cyrgai do hold themselves aloof from their Cynesgan hirelings and from the slaves whose toil supports them.’
‘This should be enough to work with for now,’ Flute said, pursing her lips as she examined Talen’s drawing. ‘All right, Bevier, you’re the expert on fortifications. Where’s the weak spot?’
The Cyrinic studied the sketch for several minutes. ‘Did you see any wells, Anarae?’ he asked.
‘Nay, Sir Knight.’
‘They’ve got a lake right outside the front gate, Bevier,’ Kalten reminded him.
‘That wouldn’t do much good if the city were under siege,’ Bevier replied. ‘There has to be some source of water inside the walls – either a well or some kind of a cistern. A siege ends rather quickly when the defenders run out of water.’
‘What makes you think that the place was built to hold off a siege?’ Mirtai asked. ‘Nobody’s supposed to be able to find it.’
‘The walls are a little too high and thick to be purely ornamental, Atana. Cyrga’s a fortified city, and that means that it was built to withstand a siege. The Cyrgai aren’t very bright, but nobody’s stupid enough to build a fort without water inside. That’s my best guess, Divine Aphrael. Find out how they’re getting water – both here in the outer city and in the inner city as well. There might be a weakness there. If not, we may have to tunnel under the inner wall or try to scale it.’
The Hidden City Page 43
