The Hidden City

Valash asked.
    ‘Oh, gorsh yes, Master Valash. Me’n Vymer goes way back. We wuz all t’gether durin’ that fracas in Matherion—him an’ me an’ From an’ Reldin—along with a couple others—when the fellers from Interior come a-bustin’ in on us. They wuz hull bunches o’ excitement that night, let me tell yew. Anyway, ahem we shuck off the po-lice, we all split up an’ scattered t’ th’ winds. Tain’t a real good idee t’ stay all bunched up whin yet a-runnin’ from th’ law.’
    Stragen sat back from the table out of the circle of light from the single candle, carefully watching Valash’s face. Caalador had just arrived to replace Sparhawk and Talen in the ongoing deception of Valash, and Stragen was once again impressed by how smooth his friend really was. Valash seemed lulled by the easy, folksy charm of Caalador’s dialect. Stragen despised the speech, but he was forced to admit its utility. It always seemed so innocently artless.
    ‘Anyway?’ Valash asked.
    ‘I tuk off ‘bout a week ago,’ Caalador shrugged. ff in a tavern up in Delo whilst I wuz e, an’ they wuz a feller what had “policehim who wuz describin’ ol’ From an’ the warts. Soon’s I got yore, I tole ‘em ’bout at it might just be time t’ move on. Anyas how yet innerested in whut’s a-goin’ I seen a few things after we all got run e’s a-thankin’ might be worth somethin.’
    ‘I’ll certainly listen, Ezek.’ Valash raised his head sharply as the comatose Ogerajin began to mumble in his sleep.
    ‘Is he all right?’ Stragen asked.
    ‘It’s nothing,’ Valash said shortly. ‘He does that all the time. Go ahead, Ezek.’
    ‘Wal, sir, she wuz a couple weeks ago, I guess, an’ I wuz hot-footin’ it across Atan, figgerin’ t’ make m’ way on across Darsos—on accounta the law bein’ hot on m’ heels an’
    ‘I wuz a-comin’ on down outten th’ mountings when I putt e.bort, cuz I seen more gol-darg Atans than I thought they in the hull world—I mean, they wint on fer miles. They multitudes o’ them bi rascals—all geared up fer war an real mean an’ on-friendly-like.’
    ‘The entire Atan army?’ Valash exclaimed.’
    ‘It lookt t’ me more like a gineral my-grashun of the hull darg, master Valash. Y aint’ niver seen s’ miny of ’em!’
    ‘Where exactly were they?’ Valash asked excitedly.
    ‘Waal sir, close oz I could make out, they wuz right close t’ the Synesgan border—up that close by a little town call Zhubay. Appen t’ have a map handy, I could point out th’ eggt fer ya.’ Caalador squinted at the Dacite. ‘Whut would as infermaytion’s worth, Master Valash?’
    He didn’t even hesitate when he reached for his purse.
    ‘Strange, Domi Tikume,’ Kring told his friend as the head of their massed tribesmen out into the sort the morning after the conference on Aphrael’s island. ‘The Child Goddess said that we were all dreaming, but everything seemed so real. I could actually smell the flowers and the grass. I’ve never smelled anything in a dream before.”
    Tikume looked dubious. ‘Are you sure it wasn’t heresy to go there, Domi Kring?’
    Kring laughed wryly. ‘Well, if it was, I was in good company. Patriarch Emban was there, and so was Patriarch Bergsten. Anyway, you and I are supposed to continue making these raids into Cynesga. Then we’re supposed to go ahead and ride on in toward those mountains out in the middle of the desert. We’re hoping that Prince Sparhawk will have pinpointed the exact location of Cyrga by the time we get there.’
    One of the scouts who had been ranging out into the burnt brown desert ahead came galloping back. ‘Domi Tikume,’ he said as he reined in. ‘We’ve found them.’
    ‘Where?’ Tikume demanded.
    ‘There’s a dry watercourse about two miles ahead, Domi. They’re crouched down in there. I’d say they’re planning to ambush us.’
    ‘What sort of soldiers are they?’ Kring asked.
    ‘There was Cynesgan cavalry and more of those big ones with the steel masks that we’ve been running to death lately. There was some other infantry as well, but I didn’t recognize them.’
    ‘Breastplates? Short kirtles? Helmets with high crests, and big round shields?’’
    ‘Those are the ones, Domi Kring.’
    Kring rubbed one hand across his shaved scalp. ‘How wide is the water-course?’ he asked.
    ‘Fifty paces or so, Domi.’
    ‘Crooked? Fairly deep?’
    The scout nodded.
    ‘It’s an ambush, all