David Eddings - The Hidden City

‘Of course. Stragen used to talk about it back in Matherion.’

‘Oh.’ Kalten flushed slightly.

‘What did you think it meant?’

‘Ah—never mind, Mirtai. just forget I said anything.’

‘You must have thought it meant something.’

‘Can we just drop it? I misunderstood, that’s all.’ He looked up at the others. ‘Let’s go on down,’ he suggested. ‘I don’t think there’ll be anybody else in our way.’

Ehlana suddenly burst into tears. ‘I can’t!’ she wailed. ‘I can’t face Sparhawk like this!’ She put one hand on the wimple that covered her violated scalp.

'Are you still worrying about that?’ Aphrael asked

'I look so awful!'Aphrael rolled her eyes upward. ‘Let’s go into that room,’ she suggested. ‘I’ll fix it for you—if it’s so important.’

‘Could you?’ Ehlana asked eagerly.

‘Of course.’ The Child Goddess squinted at her. ‘Would you like to have me change the color?’ she asked. ‘Or maybe make it curly?’

The Queen pursed her lips. ‘Why don’t we talk about that a little?’ she said.

The Cynesgans who manned the outer wall of the Hidden City were not particularly good troops in the first place, and when the Trolls came leaping out of No-Time to scramble up the walls toward them, they broke and ran.

‘Did you tell the Trolls to open the gates for us?’ Vanion asked Ulath.

‘Yes, my Lord,’ the Genidian replied, ‘but it might be a little while before they remember. They’re hungry right now. They’ll eat breakfast first.’

‘We have to get inside, Ulath,’ Sephrenia said urgently. ‘We have to protect the slave-pens.’

‘Oh, Lord,’ he said. ‘I forgot about that. The Trolls won’t be able to distinguish slaves from Cynesgans.’

‘I’ll go have a look,’ Khalad volunteered. He swung down from his horse and ran forward to the massively timbered gates.

After a couple of moments he came back. ‘It’s no particular problem, Lady Sephrenia,’ he reported. ‘Those gates would fall apart if you sneezed on them.’

‘What?’

‘The timbers are very old, my Lady, and they’re riddled with dry-rot. With your permission, Lord Vanion, I’ll take some men and rig up a battering-ram. We’ll knock down the gate so that we can get inside.’

‘Of course,’ Vanion replied.

‘Come along then, Berit,’ Khalad told his friend.

‘That young man always manages to make me feel inadequate,’ Vanion muttered as they watched the pair ride back to rejoin the knights massed some yards to the rear.

‘As I remember, his father had the same effect on you,’ Sephrenia said.

Kring came galloping back around the wall. ‘Friend Bergsten’s preparing to assault the north gate,’ he reported.

‘Send word to him to be careful, friend Kring,’ Betuana advised. ‘The Trolls are already inside the city—and they’re hungry. It might be better if he delayed his attack just a little.’

Kring nodded his agreement. ‘Working with Trolls changes the complexion of things, doesn’t it, Betuana-Queen? They’re very good allies in a fight, but you don’t want to let them get hungry.’

About ten minutes later, Khalad and a few dozen knights dragged a large log into place before the gate, suspended it on ropes attached to several makeshift tripods, and began to pound on the rotting timbers. The gate shuddered out billows of powdery red dust and began to crumble and fall apart.

‘Let’s go.’ Vanion called tersely to his oddly assorted army and led the way into the city. At Sephrenia’s insistence, the knights went straight to the pens, freed the shackled slaves, and escorted them to safety outside the walls. Then Vanion’s force moved directly to the inner wall that protected the steep hill rising in the middle of Cyrga.

‘How long is that likely to last, Sir Ulath?’ Vanion said, gesturing toward a cluster of ravening Trolls.

‘It’s a little hard to say, Lord Vanion,’ Ulath replied. ‘I don’t think we’ll get much co-operation from them as long as there are still Cynesgans running up and down the streets here in the outer city, though.’

‘Maybe it’s just as well,’ Vanion decided. ‘I think we want to get to Sparhawk and the others before the Trolls do.’ He looked around. ‘Khalad,’ he called, ‘tell your men to drag that battering ram up here. Let’s pound down the gate to the inner city and go find Sparhawk.’

‘Yes, my Lord,’ Khalad replied.

The gates to the inner wall were more substantial, and Khalad’s ram was pounding out great booming sounds when Patriarch Bergsten came riding along the wall, accompanied by the veteran Pandion, Sir Heldin, a Peloi whom Vanion did not recognize, and a tall, lithe Atan girl. Vanion was a bit startled to see that the Styric God Setras was also with them.

‘What do you think you’re doing, Vanion?’ Bergsten roared.

‘Knocking down this gate, your Grace,’ Vanion replied.

‘That’s not what I’m talking about. What in God’s name possessed you to let the Trolls make the initial assault?’

‘It wasn’t really a question of “let”, your Grace. They didn’t exactly ask for permission.’

‘We’ve got absolute chaos here in the outer city. My knights can’t concentrate on this inner wall because they keep running into Trolls. They’re in a feeding-frenzy, you know. Right now they’ll eat anything that moves.’

‘Must you?’ Sephrenia murmured with a shudder.

‘Hello, Sephrenia,’ Bergsten said. ‘You’re looking well. How much longer are you going to be with this gate, Vanion? Let’s get our people into the inner city where all we have to worry about are the Cyrgai. Your allies are making my men very nervous.’ He looked up at the top of the inner wall, sharply outlined against the dawn sky. ‘I thought the Cyrgai were supposed to be soldiers. Why aren’t they manning this wall?’

‘They’re a little demoralized right now,’ Sephrenia explained. ‘Sparhawk just killed their God.’

‘He did? I thought Bhelliom was going to do that.’

She sighed. ‘In a certain sense it did,’ she said. ‘It’s a little hard to separate the two of them at this point. Aphrael isn’t entirely sure where Bhelliom leaves off and Sparhawk begins right now.’

Bergsten shuddered. ‘I don’t think I want to know about that,’ he confessed. ‘I’m in enough theological trouble already. What about Klael?’

‘He’s gone. He was banished as soon as Sparhawk killed Cyrgon.’

‘Oh, fine, Vanion,’ Bergsten said with heavy sarcasm. ‘You make me ride a thousand leagues in the dead of winter, and the fighting’s all over before I even get here.’

‘The exercise was probably good for you, your Grace.’ Vanion raised his voice. ‘How much longer, Khalad?’ he called.

‘Just a few more minutes, my Lord,’ Sparhawk’s squire replied. ‘The timbers are starting to crack.’

‘Good,’ Vanion said bleakly. ‘I want to locate Zalasta. He and I have some things to talk about—at great length.’

‘They’ve all bolted, Sparhawk,’ Talen reported, returning from his quick survey of the ruined palace. ‘The gates are standing wide open, and we’re the only people up here.’

Sparhawk nodded wearily. It had been a long night, and he was emotionally as well as physically drained. He could still, however, feel that enormous calm that had settled over him when he had at last understood the true significance of his strange relationship with Bhelliom. There were some fleeting temptations—curiosity perhaps more than anything else—a desire to experiment and test the limits of newly-recognized capabilities. He deliberately repressed them.

‘Go ahead, Sparhawk,’ Flute’s voice in his mind had a slight challenge in it.