The Hidden City

‘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.’