The Hidden City

‘Your breakfast might be a little late this morning, love,’ he whispered with a tight grin. ‘I think the cooks might have other things on their minds before long.’

‘Be careful, Sparhawk.’

‘Of course, my Queen.’

‘Sparhawk,’ Mirtai called up softly. ‘Xanetia’s back.’

‘I have to run now, dear,’ he whispered into the darkness. ‘We’ll have you out of there shortly. I love you.’

‘What a lovely thing to say.’

Sparhawk quickly climbed back down to the parapet. ‘Welcome back Anarae,’ he greeted Xanetia.

‘Thou art in a peculiar humor, Anakha,’ she replied in a slightly puzzled tone.

‘I just had a chat with my wife, Anarae,’ he said. ‘That always brightens my day. How many guards will we have to deal with?’

‘I do fear me that they number some score or more, Anakha.’

‘That could be a problem, Sparhawk,’ Bevier noted. ‘They’re Cyrgai and none too bright, but twenty of them might give us some trouble.’

‘Maybe not,’ Sparhawk disagreed. ‘Aphrael said that there are only three rooms up here – the main room, the cell where Ehlana and Alean are, and the guardroom. Was she right, Anarae?’

‘Indeed,’ she replied. ‘The cell and the guardroom are here on this north side. The main room is on the south, overlooking the Temple of Cyrgon. I did glean from the sleepy thought of such Cyrgai who were awake that this ultimate tower is the customary retreat of King Santheocles, for he doth take some pleasure in surveying his domain from the parapet – and above all in receiving the adulation of his subjects in the city below.’

‘Stupid,’ Mirtai muttered. ‘Doesn’t he have anything better to do?’

Xanetia smiled faintly. ‘Much else would be quite beyond him, Atana. His guardsmen, limited though they themselves are, do hold their King’s understanding in low regard. But his wits, or lack thereof, are of little moment. Santheocles is the descendant of the royal house, and his sole function is to wear the crown.’

‘A hat-rack could do that,’ Talen noted.

‘Truly.’

‘Do the guardsmen have any kind of set routine?’ Bevier asked.

‘Nay, Sir Knight. They do but hold themselves in readiness to respond to the commands of their King, nothing more. In truth, they are trumpeteers rather than warriors. Their primary duty is to announce with brazen notes to their fellow citizens that Santheocles will appear on the parapet to accept the adulation of the Cyrgai.’

‘And they do their waiting in the guardroom?’ sparhawk pressed.

‘Save only for the pair who stand guard at the door to thy Queen’s prison and the other pair who bar the stairway which doth lead down into the lower levels of this tower.’

‘Can they get into the Queen’s cell from the guardroom?’ Bevier asked intently.

‘Nay. There is but one door.’

‘And how wide is the doorway between the guardroom and the main room?’

‘Wide enough for one man only, Sir Bevier.’

‘Kalten and I can hold that one, Sparhawk.’

‘Are there any other doors to the guardroom?’ Kalten asked.

Xanetia shook her head.

‘Any large windows?’

‘One window only – the mate to this one above us – though it is not barred.’

‘That narrows the opposition down to just those four guards in the main room then,’ Kalten said. ‘Bevier and I can keep the rest of them penned in for a week, if we have to.’

‘And Sparhawk and I can deal with the ones at the cell door and the top of the stairs,’ Mirtai added.

‘Let’s get Talen inside that cell,’ Sparhawk said, looking again toward the east, where a faint lessening of the darkness had begun.

Kalten scrambled back up the wall to the window and began digging at the mortar with his heavy dagger.

‘Slip around and keep watch, Anarae,’ Sparhawk whispered. ‘Let us know if anybody comes up those stairs.’

She nodded and went on back round the corner of the tower.

Sparhawk climbed up and attacked the mortar on the left side of the iron lattice while his friend continued to dig at the right. After a few moments Kalten took hold of the rusty iron and pulled. ‘The bottom’s loose,’ he muttered. ‘Let’s get the top.’

‘Right.’ The two of them went to the top of the window and began to chip away the mortar there. ‘Be careful when it breaks away,’ Sparhawk cautioned. ‘We don’t want it clanging down on that parapet.’

‘This side’s free,’ Kalten whispered. ‘I’ll hold it while you dig your side loose.’ He reached inside, found a secure hand-hold with his right hand, and grasped the grating with his left.

Sparhawk dug harder, sending a shower of chunks and dust to the parapet below. ‘I think that’s got it,’ he whispered.

‘We’ll see.’ Kalten’s shoulders heaved and there was a grinding sound as the ancient grate tore loose from the wall. Then, with the same movement, Sparhawk’s burly friend hurled the heavy obstruction out beyond the balustrade.

‘What are you doing?’ Sparhawk choked.

‘Getting rid of it.’

‘Do you know how much noise that thing’s going to make when it hits the ground?’

‘So what? It’s five hundred feet down. Let it make all the noise it wants to. If some Cyrgai or Cynesgan slave-driver’s standing under it, he’s in for a nasty surprise, though. But we can live with that, can’t we?’

Sparhawk pushed his head through the now unobstructed opening. ‘Ehlana?’ he whispered. ‘Are you there?’

‘Where else would I be, Sparhawk?’

‘Sorry. Stupid question, I suppose. The bars are out of the way now. We’re sending Talen in. Shout or something as soon as he gets the lock jammed so that the guards can’t get through the door.’

‘Get out of the way, Sparhawk,’ Talen said abruptly from just below. I can’t get in there with you filling up the whole window.’

Sparhawk swung himself clear of the opening, and the agile boy began to wriggle his way through. Suddenly he stopped. ‘It’s not working,’ he muttered. ‘Pull me back out.’

‘What’s wrong?’ Kalten demanded.

‘Just pull me back out, Kalten. I don’t have time to explain.’