The Hidden City

crept in out of the tangled forest to blur the ruined walls and houses of Panem-Doa. There were fires and flaring torches pushing back the darkness with their ruddy light, but there were other lights in the weed-choked streets as well, pale, cold lights that did not burn or flicker. Creatures of light, pale as wandering moons, stalked the streets of Panem-Doa. The general’s heart filled with terror. It was impossible. the Shining Ones were a myth! There were no such creatures!
    Sirada shook off his fright and drew his sword. ‘Stand fast!’ he roared at his demoralized men. ‘Form up! Pikemen to the front!’ He bulled his way into the milling mob of terrified troops, flailing about him with the flat of his sword. ‘Form up! Make a—’
    But there was no rationality nor fear of authority in the panic-stricken faces of his poorly trained men. The screaming mob simply diverged and bypassed him on either side. He ran at them again, swinging great strokes with his sword, cutting down his own men. He was so desperate to restore order that he did not even feel the knife-stroke that went in just below his ribs on the left side. He could not even understand why his knees buckled or why he fell under the trampling feet of his soldiers as they fled screaming into the trackless forest.
    ‘Are you sure this map’s accurate, Tynian?’ Patriarch Bergsten demanded, peering at the miniature world under his foot.
    ‘It’s the most accurate map you’ll ever see, your Grace,’ Tynian assured him. ‘Bhlokw cast the spell, and the Troll-Gods put their hands into the ground and felt the shape of the continent. This is it—down to the last tree and bush. Everything’s here.’
    ‘Except for Cyrga, Tynian-Knight,’ Engessa amended. The Atan general was completely healed now, and he looked as fit as ever. His face, however, was troubled. His Queen had greeted him almost abruptly when she had first arrived, and she was now quite obviously avoiding him.
    Sephrenia was seated on one of the benches in Aphrael’s alabaster temple with the rainbow light from the impossible sky playing over her face. ‘We’d hoped that Schlee might be able to feel Cyrga when he re-created the continent, your Grace,’ she said, ‘but Cyrgon’s illusion seems to be absolute. Not even a Trollish spell can break it.’
    ‘What’s the best guess we can come up with?’ Bergsten asked.
    Aphrael walked lightly across the tiny world Bhlokw had conjured up for them. She stepped over the minuscule city of Cynestra and continued south to a mountainous region in the center of the desert. ‘It used to be somewhere in this general vicinity,’ she said, gesturing vaguely over the mountains.
    ‘Used to be?’ Bergsten asked her sharply.
    She shrugged. ‘Sometimes we move things.’
    ‘Whole cities?’
    ‘It’s possible—but it’s a reflection of bad planning.’
    Bergsten shuddered and began marking off distances on the miniature continent with a long piece of string. ‘I’m up here at Pela,’ he told them, pointing at a spot in central Astel. ‘That’s almost three hundred leagues from the general vicinity of Cyrga, and I’ll have to stop to capture Cynestra along the way. The rest of you are much closer, so you’re going to have to hold off a bit if we all want to get there at approximately the same time.’
    Aphrael shrugged. ‘I’ll tamper,’ she said.
    Bergsten gave her a puzzled look.
    ‘Divine Aphrael has ways of compressing time and distance your Grace,’ Sparhawk explained. ‘She can—’
    ‘I don’t want to hear about it, Sparhawk!’ Bergsten said sharply, putting his hands over his ears. ‘You’ve already put my soul in danger just by bringing me here. Please don’t make it any worse by telling me things I don’t need to know about.’
    ‘Whatever you say, your Grace,’ Sparhawk agreed.
    Emban was pacing around the cluster of up-thrusting mountains in the center of the Cynesgan Desert. ‘We’re all going to be converging on these mountains,’ he said. ‘I’m no expert, but wouldn’t our best move be to just stop in the foothills and wait until everyone’s in place before we make the final assault?’
    ‘No, your Grace,’ Vanion said firmly. ‘Let’s stay out a bit from the foothills—at least a day’s ride. If we run into Klael’s creatures, we’ll need room to maneuver. I want a lot of flat ground around me when that happens.’
    The fat little Churchman shrugged. ‘You’re the soldier,