The Hidden City

Bhlokw conferred at some length with the enormous presences of his Gods in the grey light of No-Time, and then he raised his brutish face and bellowed his summons to the rest of the herd.

The great shaggy mass flowed down the hill toward the village and the forest of tents beyond the oasis in the steely light of frozen time as Ulath and Tynian watched from the hilltop. The Trolls divided, went around the village, and moved in among the Cynesgan tents, fanning out as each of the great beasts selected its prey. Then, evidently at a signal from Bhlokw, the chill light flickered and the sunlight returned.

There were screams, of course, but that was to be expected. Very few men in the entire world will not scream when a full-grown Troll suddenly steps out of nowhere immediately in front of them.

The carnage in that vast slaughtering-ground beyond the oasis was ghastly, since the Trolls were bent not on fighting the Cynesgans but on tearing them to pieces in preparation for the feast to follow.

‘Some of them are getting away,’ Tynian observed, pointing at a sizeable number of panic-stricken Cynesgans desperately flogging their horses southward.

Ulath shrugged. ‘Breeding stock,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘It’s a Trollish concept, Tynian. It’s a way to guarantee a continuing food-supply. If the Trolls eat them all today, there won’t be any left when supper-time rolls around tomorrow.’

Tynian shuddered with revulsion. ‘That’s a horrible thought, Ulath!’ he exclaimed.

‘Yes,’ Ulath agreed, ‘moderately horrible, but one should always respect the customs and traditions of one’s allies, wouldn’t you say?’

At the end of a half-hour, the tents were all flattened, the breeding stock had been permitted to escape, and the Trolls settled down to eat. The Cynesgan threat in the north had been effectively eliminated, and now the Trolls were free to join the march on Cyrga.

Khalad sat up suddenly, throwing off his blankets. ‘Berit,’ he said sharply.

Berit came awake instantly, reaching for his sword.

‘No,’ Khalad told him. ‘It’s nothing like that. Do you know what firedamp is?’

‘I’ve never heard of it.’ Berit yawned and rubbed at his eyes.

‘I’m going to have to talk with Aphrael then – personally. How long will it take you to teach me the spell?’

‘That depends, I guess. Can’t you pass what you have to tell her through me?’

‘No. I need to ask her some questions, and you wouldn’t understand what I’m talking about. I’ve got to talk with her myself. It’s very important, Berit. I don’t have to understand the language to just repeat the words, do I?’

Berit frowned. ‘I’m not sure. Sephrenia and the Styric who replaced her at Demos wouldn’t let us do it that way, because they said we had to think in Styric’

‘That could just be their peculiarity, not Aphrael’s. Let’s try it and find out if I can reach her.’

It took them almost two hours, and Berit, sandy-eyed and definitely in need of more sleep, began to grow grouchy toward the end.

‘I’m going to be mispronouncing words,’ Khalad said finally. There’s no way I’ll ever be able to twist my mouth around to make some of those sounds. Let’s try it and see what happens.’

‘You’ll make her angry,’ Berit warned.

‘She’ll get over it. Here goes.’ Khalad began to haltingly pronounce the spell, and his fingers faltered as he moved them in the accompanying gestures.

‘What on earth are you doing, Khalad?’ Her voice almost crackled in his ears.

‘I’m sorry, Flute,’ he apologized, ‘but this is urgent.’

‘Berit’s not hurt, is he?’ she demanded with a note of concern.

‘No. He’s fine. It’s just that I need to talk with you personally. Do you know what firedamp is?’

‘Yes. It sometimes kills coal-miners.’

‘You said that Klæl’s soldiers breathe something like marsh-gas.’

‘Yes. Where are we going with this? I’m sort of busy just now.’

‘Please be patient, Divine One. I’m still groping my way toward this. Berit told you that we saw some of those aliens run into a cave, didn’t he?’

‘Yes, but I still don’t –’

‘I thought that Klæl might have filled the cave with marsh-gas so that his soldiers could go there to breathe, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe the gas was already there.’

‘Would you please get to the point?’

‘Is it possible that firedamp and marsh-gas are anything at all alike?’

She sighed one of those infuriating long-suffering sighs. ‘Very much alike, Khalad – which sort of stands to reason, since they’re the same thing.’

‘I do love you, Aphrael,’ he said with a delighted laugh.

‘What brought that on?’

‘I knew there had to be a connection of some kind. This is a desert, and there aren’t any swamps here. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out where Klæl might be getting marsh-gas to fill that cave. But he didn’t have to, did he? If marsh-gas is the same thing as firedamp, all he had to do was find a cave with a seam of coal in it.’

‘All right, now that I’ve answered your question and satisfied your scientific curiosity, can I go?’

‘In a minute, Divine Aphrael,’ he said, rubbing his hands together gleefully. ‘Is there some way that you can blow some of our air into that cave so that it’ll mix with the firedamp those soldiers are breathing?’

There was another of those long pauses. ‘That’s dreadful, Khalad!’ she exclaimed.

‘And what happened to Lord Abriel and Lord Vanion’s knights wasn’t?’ he demanded. ‘This is war, Aphrael, and it’s a war we absolutely have to win. If Klæl’s soldiers can run into those caves to catch their breath, they’ll be coming out and attacking our friends every time we turn around. We have to come up with a way to neutralize them, and I think this is it. Can you take us back to that cave where we saw those soldiers?’

‘All right.’ Her tone was a little sulky.

‘What were you talking with her about?’ Berit asked.

‘A way to win the war, Berit. Let’s gather up our things. Aphrael’s going to take us back to that cave.’

‘Are they still coming?’ Vanion called back to Sir Endrik, who was trailing behind the other knights.