The Hidden City (48 page)

‘You're even starting to
sound
like Sephrenia, Anarae,'
Sparhawk said with a faint smile. ‘What are we overlooking?'

‘Robes of any shade or hue will serve, Anakha,' she explained patiently, ‘and doubtless may be obtained in Vigayo close by yon oasis.'

‘They have to be black, Anarae,' Bevier objected.

‘Color is an aspect of light, Sir Bevier, and I am most skilled at controlling light.'

‘Oh,' he said. ‘I guess I didn't think of that.'

‘I had noticed that myself – almost immediately.'

‘Be nice,' he murmured.

Bergsten's knights and their Peloi allies crossed the Cynesgan border on a cloudy, chill afternoon after what
seemed
to be several days of hard riding, and rode southeasterly toward the capital at Cynestra. Peloi scouts ranged out in front, but they encountered no resistance that day. They made camp, put out guards, and bedded down early.

It was not long after they had broken camp and set out on what was ostensibly the next morning that Daiya came riding back to join Bergsten and Heldin at the head of the column. ‘My scouts report that there are soldiers massing about a mile ahead, your Reverence,' he reported.

‘Cynesgans?' Bergsten asked quickly.

‘It does not appear so, your Reverence.'

‘Go have a look, Heldin,' Bergsten ordered.

The Pandion nodded and spurred his horse to the top of a rocky hill a quarter mile to the front. His face was bleak when he returned. ‘We've got trouble, your Grace,' he rumbled. ‘They're more of those monsters we came up against in eastern Zemoch.'

Bergsten muttered a fairly savage oath. ‘I
knew
things were going too well.'

‘Domi Tikume has warned us about these foreign
soldiers,' Daiya said. ‘Would it offend your Reverence if I suggested that you let
us
deal with them? Domi Tikume and Domi Kring have devised certain tactics that seem to work.'

Im not offended in the slightest, friend Daiya,' Bergsten replied.
‘We
didn't exactly cover ourselves with glory the last time we encountered those brutes, so I'd be very interested in seeing something that's a little more effective than
our
tactics were.'

Daiya conferred briefly with his clan-chiefs, and then he led Bergsten, Heldin and several other knights up to the top of the hill to watch.

Bergsten immediately saw the advantages of light cavalry as opposed to armored knights mounted on heavy war-horses. The huge soldiers in their tight-fitting armor seemed baffled by the slashing attacks of the Peloi armed with javelins. They floundered forward, desperately trying to close with their tormentors, but the cat-footed horses of the Peloi were simply too quick. The javelins began to take their toll, and more and more of the hulking monsters fell in that deadly rain.

‘The idea is to force them to run, your Reverence,' Daiya explained. ‘They're very dangerous in close quarters, but they don't seem to have much endurance, so they aren't nearly as dangerous in a running fight.'

‘Vanion told me about that,' Bergsten said. ‘Did Domi Tikume give you any idea of how long it takes them to run out of breath?'

‘Nothing very specific, your Reverence.'

Bergsten shrugged. ‘That's all right, friend Daiya. We've got plenty of open ground, and it's still morning. We can run them all day if we have to.'

Stung by the repeated attacks, the huge soldiers began to lumber forward in a kind of shuffling trot, brandishing their horrid weapons and bellowing hoarse war-cries.

The Peloi, however, refused those challenges and continued their slash-and-run tactics.

Then, driven and stung beyond endurance, the creatures broke into a shambling run.

‘It's feasible,' Sir Heldin mused in his deep, rumbling basso. ‘We'd need different equipment, though.'

‘What are you talking about, Heldin?' Bergsten demanded.

‘Looking to the future, your Grace,' Heldin replied. ‘If those beasts become a standard fixture, we'll have to modify a few things. It might not be a bad idea to train and equip a few squadrons of Church Knights to serve as light cavalry.'

‘Heldin,' Bergsten said acidly, ‘if those things become a standard fixture, it'll be because we've lost this war. What makes you think there'll
be
any Church Knights at that point?'

‘They're breaking off, your Reverence!' Daiya cried excitedly. ‘They're running away!'

‘But where are they running to, Daiya?' Bergsten demanded. ‘It's the air that's killing them, and the air's everywhere. Where can they go, Daiya? Where can they go?'

‘Where can they go?' Kring asked in bafflement as Klæl's soldiers broke off from their clumsy pursuit of the Peloi horsemen and fled off into the desert.

‘Who cares?' Tikume laughed. ‘Let them run. We've still got those Cyrgai penned up in that gully. We'd better get them to moving before some clever subaltern in the rear ranks has time to take his bearings.'

The Cyrgai were following a strategy from the dawn of time. They advanced steadily, marching in step, with their large round shields protecting their bodies and with their long spears leveled to the front. As the Peloi slashed in on them, they would stop and close ranks.
The front rank would kneel with overlapping shields and leveled spears. The ranks behind would close up, their shields also overlapping and spears also to the front.

It was absolutely beautiful – but it didn't accomplish anything at all against cavalry.

‘We have to get them to run, Domi Tikume!' Kring shouted to his friend as they galloped clear of the massed Cyrgai regiments again. ‘Pull your children back a little further after the next attack! This won't work if those antiques just keep plodding! Make them run!'

Tikume shouted some orders, and his horsemen altered their tactics, pulling back several hundred yards and forcing the Cyrgai to come to them.

A brazen trumpet sounded from the center of one of the advancing regimental squares, and the Cyrgai broke into a jingling trot, their ranks still perfectly straight.

‘They look good, don't they?' Tikume laughed.

‘They would if this was a parade-ground,' Kring replied. ‘Let's sting them again and then pull back even further.'

‘How far is it to the border?' Tikume asked.

‘Who knows? Nobody I've talked with is really sure. We're close, though. Make them run, Tikume! Make them run!'

Tikume rose in his stirrups. ‘Pass the word!' he bellowed. ‘Full retreat!'

The Peloi turned tail and galloped to the east across the rattling brown gravel.

A thin cheer went up from the massed regiments of the Cyrgai, and the trumpet sounded again. The ancient soldiers, still in perfect step and with their ranks still perfectly straight broke into a running charge. Sergeants barked the staccato cadence, and the sound of the half-boots of the Cyrgai beating on the barren ground was like the pounding of some huge drum.

And then the full light of a winter midday dimmed as if some giant, silent wings had somehow blotted out the sun. A chill wind swept across the desert, and there was a wailing sound like the sum of human woe.

The suddenly stricken Cyrgai, rank upon rank, died soundlessly in mid-stride, falling limply to earth to be trampled by their blindly advancing comrades, who also fell, astonished, on top of them.

Kring and Tikume, both pale and trembling, watched in awe-struck wonder as the ancient Styric curse did its dreadful work. Then, sickened, they wheeled and rode back eastward, turning their backs on the perfect soldiers rushing blindly into chill, wailing obliteration.

These clothes are good enough for Arjuna and Tamul Proper, neighbor,' Sparhawk told the shopkeeper later that same day, ‘but they don't exactly turn the trick in a duststorm. I think that last one put about four pounds of dirt down my back.'

The shopkeeper nodded sagely. ‘Other races laugh at our customary garb, good Master,' he observed. ‘They usually keep laughing right up until the time when they ride through their first duststorm.'

‘Does the wind blow all the time out there?' Talen asked him.

‘Not quite
all
the time, young Master. The afternoons are usually the worst.' He looked at Sparhawk. ‘How many robes will you be needing, good Master?'

‘There are six of us, neighbor, and none of us are so fond of each other that we'd care to share a robe.'

‘Have you any preferences in colors?'

‘Does one color keep the dust out better than the others?'

‘Not that I've noticed.'

‘Then any color will do, I guess.'

The shopkeeper hustled into his storeroom and
returned with a pile of neatly-folded garments. Then he smiled, rubbed his hands together and broached the subject of the price.

‘He overcharged you, you know,' Talen said as they emerged from the cluttered shop into the dusty street.

Sparhawk shrugged. ‘Perhaps,' he said.

‘Someday I'm going to have to teach you about the finer points of haggling.'

‘Does it really matter?' Sparhawk asked, tying the bundle of Cynesgan robes to the back of his saddle. He looked around. ‘Anarae?'

‘I am here, Anakha,' her whispered voice responded.

‘Were you able to find anything?'

‘Nay, Anakha. Clearly the messenger hath not yet arrived.'

‘Berit and Khalad are still several days away, Sparhawk,' Talen said quietly. ‘And this isn't such an attractive place that the messenger would want to get here early to enjoy the scenery.' He looked around at the winter-dispirited palm trees and the muddy pond that lay at the center of the cluster of white houses.

‘Attractive or not, we're going to have to come up with some reason for staying,' Sparhawk said. ‘We can't leave until the messenger gets here and Anarae Xanetia can listen to what he's thinking.'

‘I can remain here alone, Anakha,' Xanetia told him. ‘None here can detect my presence, so I do not need protection.'

‘We'll stay all the same, Anarae,' Sparhawk told her. ‘Courtesy and all that, you understand. An Elene gentleman will
not
permit a lady to go about unescorted.'

An argument had broken out on the shaded porch of what appeared to be a tavern or a wine-shop of some kind. ‘You don't know what you're talking about, Echon!' a wheezy-voiced old man in a patched and filthy robe declared loudly. ‘It's a good hundred miles from
here to the River Sarna, and there's no water at all between here and there.'

‘You either drink too much or you've been out in the sun too long, Zagorri,' Echon, a thin, sun-dried man in a dark blue robe scoffed. ‘My map says that it's sixty miles – no more.'

‘How well do you know the man who drew the map? I've been here all my life, and I know how far it is to the Sarna. Go ahead, though. Take only enough water for sixty miles. Your mules will die, and you'll be drinking sand for that last forty miles. It's all right with me, though, because I've never liked you all that much anyway. But, mark my words, Echon. It's one hundred miles from the Well of Vigay there to the banks of the Sarna.' And the old man spat in the direction of the pale brown pond.

Talen suddenly began to laugh.

‘What's so funny?' Sparhawk asked him.

‘We just had a stroke of luck, revered leader,' the boy replied gaily. ‘If we're all finished up here, why don't we go back to where the others are waiting? We'll all want to get a good night's sleep – since we'll probably be leaving first thing in the morning.'

‘Oh? For where?'

‘Cyrga, of course. Wasn't that where we wanted to go?'

‘Yes, but we don't know where Cyrga is.'

‘That's where you're wrong, Sparhawk. We
do
know the way to Cyrga – at least,
I
do.'

‘Did he die well?' Betuana asked. Her face was very pale, but she gave no other outward sign of distress.

‘It was a suitable death, Betuana-Queen,' the messenger replied. ‘We were at the bottom of a gorge and the Klæl-beast was hurling the sides of it down upon us. Androl-King attacked the beast, and many escaped that would have died if he had not.'

She considered it. ‘Yes,' she agreed finally. ‘It was suitable. It will be remembered. Is the army fit to travel?'

‘We have many injured, Betuana-Queen, and thousands are buried in the gorge. We withdrew to Tualas to await your commands.'

‘Leave some few to care for the injured, and bring the army here,' she told him. Tosa is no longer in danger. The danger is here.'

‘It shall be as you say, my Queen.' He clashed his fist against his breastplate in salute.

The Queen of Atan rose to her feet, her still-pale face betraying no emotion. I must go apart and consider this, Itagne-Ambassador,' she said formally.

‘It is proper, Betuana-Queen,' he responded. I share your grief.'

‘But not my guilt.' She turned and slowly left the room.

Itagne looked at the stony-faced Engessa. ‘I'd better pass the word to the others,' he said.

Engessa nodded shortly.

‘Could you speak with the messenger before he leaves, Engessa?' Itagne asked. ‘Lord Vanion will need casualty figures before he can change his strategy.'

‘I will obtain them for you, Itagne-Ambassador.' Engessa inclined his head shortly and went out.

Itagne swore and banged his fist on the table. ‘Of all the times for
this
to happen!' he fumed. ‘If that idiot had only
waited
before he got himself killed!'

Betuana had done nothing wrong. There had been no stain of dishonor in her concern for Engessa, and if she had only had a week or two to put it behind her, it would probably have been forgotten – along with the personal feelings which caused it. But Androl's death, coming as it did at this particular time – Itagne swore again. The Atan Queen
had
to be able to function, and this crisis might well incapacitate her. For all Itagne knew, she was in her room right now preparing to fall on her sword. He rose and went looking for paper and pen. Vanion had to be warned about this before everything here in Sarna flew apart.