The Hidden City

them. Everyone’s attention was so fixed on the rings that we didn’t even bother trying to steal Bhelliom from the royal crown of Thalesia.’
    Scarpa suddenly sneered. ‘You just out-smarted yourself, old boy. If Bhelliom’s so deadly, how is it that the kings of Thalesia could touch it and not die?’
    ‘Because Bhelliom’s alive, you dolt. It has an awareness. It kills only those it wants to kill—and that would certainly include you. You’re my son, and even I want to kill you most of the time. You had some deranged, half-formed notion that you could just pick up Bhelliom and start giving it commands, didn’t you?’
    Scarpa flushed guiltily.
    ‘Can’t you get it through your sick head that only a God—or Anakha—can safely take up Bhelliom and start giving it orders? I realized that over a century ago. Why do you think I made an alliance with Azash—or with Cyrgon? Did you think I was having religious yearnings?’ He smiled a cruel smile. ‘Did you really think Bhelliom would have made you a match for me, Scarpa? You were going to put on the rings, snatch up the Bhelliom, and order it to kill me, weren’t you? I almost wish the situation were different. I’d have loved to see the expression on your face as Bhelliom slowly turned you to stone.’
    Zalasta straightened. ‘Enough of this,’ he said. He went to the door. ‘Come in here,’ he barked, ‘all of you.’
    The men who entered were fearful and hesitant as they sidled through the door. Krager appeared to have been frightened to the point that he was sober, and Elron was actually cringing. The third man was a stringy-looking Styric with a long beard, shaggy eyebrows, and sunken, burning eyes.
    ‘All right, gentlemen,’ Zalasta said, ‘this new development calls for a change of plans. My son and I have discussed the matter, and he’s evidently decided that he wants to go on living, because he’s agreed to follow my instructions. I’m going to take the Queen and her maid to a safe place. Natayos is no longer secure. Sparhawk could literally be anywhere. For all I know, he’s already here. I want you three to stay here with Scarpa. Keep sending those letters of instruction to this counterfeit Sparhawk. Don’t let our enemies know that we’re on to them. Give me a couple of days and then send instructions to Panem-Doa. Tell them to prepare suitable quarters for two very important ladies. Then wait two more days and send a closed carriage down there. Security’s an alien concept to those cretins at Panem-Doa, so word of your message will be all over southern Arjuna almost before your messenger arrives. Cyzada, I want you to keep a close watch over my deranged son here. If he doesn’t follow my instructions to the letter, I want you to summon one of the servants of Azash from the nether world to kill him. Be creative, old boy. Pick the cruelest and most hideous demon you can find. If Scarpa disobeys me again, I want him to take a long, long time to die, and I want them to be able to hear him screaming all the way from here to Matherion.’
    Cyzada’s dead eyes came alight with a sudden cruel anticipation. He fixed a ghastly smile on the now totally rational Scarpa. ‘I’ll see to it, Zalasta,’ he promised in a hollow voice. ‘I know just the one to call on.’
    Scarpa shrank back fearfully.
    ‘Where are you going to take the prisoners, Lord Zalasta?’ Elron quavered. ‘Where can you be safe from that vengeful monster they call Anakha?’
    ‘You don’t need to know that, Elron,’ Zalasta replied. ‘The Pandions have a reputation for severity when they interrogate prisoners. You won’t be able to tell them what you don’t know—even when they start to torture you.’
    ‘Torture?’ Elron’s eyes widened, and his voice came out in a terrified squeak.
    ‘This is the real world, Elron, not some romanticized daydream. The posturing and play-acting are over now, but I’m sure we’ll all be impressed by how heroically you endure the agonies they’ll surely inflict on you when they catch you.’
    Elron fell back in a near faint.

Chapter 17
    Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess Danae of Elenia, sat pensively on an out-of-the-way window-seat on one of the upper floors of her mother’s castle. The weather outside was unsettled, and a blustery wind skipped the dead leaves across the lawns below like scurrying brown mice. Danae absently stroked her purring cat as she considered options, alternatives, and