The Hidden City

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 dissolving. 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-Iat,’ 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 mind-belly that the big things with iron on their faces were good-to-eat. They are not good-to-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 Klæl’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.’