The Hidden City

‘Well –’ he let it trail off.

‘You’re too sentimental, Sarabian,’ she told him bluntly. ‘You know that we’re going to leave. Why prolong it? Come to Atan next fall, and we’ll go boar-hunting. You spend too much time penned up here in Matherion.’

‘It’s pretty hard for me to get away,’ he said dubiously. ‘Somebody has to stay here and mind the store.’

‘Let Oscagne do it. He’s honorable, so he won’t steal too much.’

‘Your Majesty!’ Oscagne protested.

She smiled at him. ‘I was only teasing you, Oscagne,’ she told him. ‘Friends can do that without giving offense.’

There was little sleep for any of them that night. There was packing, of course, and a myriad of other preparations, but the bulk of the night was spent running up and down the hallways with urgent messages that were all basically the same: ‘Promise that we’ll keep in touch.’

And they all did promise, of course, and they all really meant it. The fading of that resolve would not begin for at least a year – or maybe even two.

They gathered in the castle courtyard just as dawn was breaking over the Tamul Sea. There were all the customary kisses and embraces and gruff handshakes.

It was finally Khalad, good, solid, dependable Khalad, who looked appraisingly at the eastern sky, cleared his throat, and said, ‘We’d better get started, Sparhawk. Sorgi’ll probably charge you for an extra day if you make him miss the morning tide.’

‘Right,’ Sparhawk agreed. He lifted Ehlana up into the open carriage Sarabian had provided and in which Emban, Talen, Alean and Melidere were already seated. Then he looked around and saw Danae and Flute speaking quietly together. ‘Danae,’ he called his daughter, ‘time to go.’

The Crown Princess of Elenia kissed the Child Goddess of Styricum one last time and obediently came across the courtyard to her father.

‘Thanks for stopping by, Sparhawk,’ Sarabian said simply, holding out his hand.

Sparhawk took the hand in his own. ‘My pleasure, Sarabian,’ he replied. Then he swung himself up into Faran’s saddle and led the way across the drawbridge and out onto the still-shadowy lawns.

It took perhaps a quarter of an hour to reach the harbor, and another half-hour to load the horses in the forward hold. Sparhawk came back up on deck where the others waited and looked toward the east, where the sun had not yet risen.

‘All ready, Master Cluff?’ Sorgi called from the quarterdeck at the stern of his ship.

‘That’s it, Captain Sorgi,’ Sparhawk called back. ‘We’ve done what we came to do. Let’s go home.’

The self-important bo’sun strutted up and down the deck unnecessarily supervising the casting off of all lines and the raising of the sails.

The tide was moving quite rapidly, and there was a good following breeze. Sorgi skillfully maneuvered his battered old ship out through the harbor to the open sea.

Sparhawk lifted Danae in one arm and put the other about Ehlana’s shoulders, and they stood at the port rail looking back at the city the Tamuls called the center of the world. Sorgi swung his tiller over to take a southeasterly course to round the peninsula, and just as the sails bellied out in the breeze, the sun slid above the eastern horizon.

Matherion had been pale in the shadows of dawn, but as the sun rose, the opalescent domes took fire, and shimmering, rainbow-colored light played across the gleaming surfaces. Sparhawk and his wife and daughter stood at the rail, their eyes filled with the wonder of the glowing city that seemed somehow to be bidding them its own farewell and wishing them a safe voyage home.