The Hidden City

see a lot of tents on the other side of the oasis. I’ll ask around, but don’t get your hopes up.’
    Berit shrugged. ‘Oh, well. We’ve lived in tents before. Find out where we’re permitted to set up.’
    The village of Vigayo itself was clustered along the eastern side of the oasis, and the informal encampment of nomads and merchants stretched along the west shore of what was actually a fair-sized pool of artesian water. Berit and Khalad picketed their horses, erected their tent near the water, and sat down in the shade to wait. ‘Can you tell if Sparhawk’s around anyplace?’ Khalad asked.
    Berit shook his head. ‘He may have already passed through. Or he could be watching from one of the hills outside of town. He might not want people to know that he’s here.’
    It was an hour or so past sunset, and twilight was descending on the oasis when a Cynesgan in a loose-fitting striped robe approached their tent. ‘I’m supposed to ask if one of you might be named Sparhawk,’ he said in a slightly accented voice.
    Berit rose to his feet. ‘I might be named Sparhawk, neighbor.’
    ‘Might be?’
    ‘That’s the way you phrased your question, friend. You’ve got a note for me. Why don’t you just hand it over and be on your way? We don’t really have anything else to talk about, do we?’
    The messenger’s face hardened. He reached inside his robe, took out a folded and sealed parchment, and negligently tossed it at Berit’s feet. Then he turned and walked away.
    ‘You know, Berit,’ Khalad said mildly, ‘sometimes you’re even more abrasive than Sparhawk himself.’
    Berit grinned. ‘I know. I’m trying to maintain his reputation.” He bent, picked up the parchment, and broke the seal. He removed the identifying lock of hair and quickly read the brief message.
    ‘Well?’ Khalad asked.
    ‘Nothing very specific. It says that there’s a caravan route running off to the northwest. We’re supposed to follow that. We’ll get further instructions along the way.’
    ‘Will it be safe to use the spell and talk with Aphrael once we get out of town?’
    ‘I think so. I’m sure she’d have told me if I wasn’t supposed to use it here in Cynesga.’
    ‘We don’t have much ctioice,’ Khalad said. ‘We can’t tell if Sparhawk’s already been here, if he’s here now, or if he’s still on the way, and we’ve got to let him know about these new instructions.’
    ‘Do you think we ought to start out tonight?’
    ‘No. Let’s not start floundering round in the dark. We might miss the trail, and there’s nothing out in that desert but empty.’
    ‘I won’t do anything to put Berit in any kind of danger,’ Elysoun insisted a few days later. ‘I’m very fond of him.’
    ‘They found out that he was posing as Sparhawk quite some time ago, Elysoun,’ Baroness Melidere told her. ‘You won’t be putting him in any more danger than he’s already in. Telling Chacole about his disguise will convince her that you’ve gone over to her side—and that you have access to important information.’
    ‘You might want to make them believe that your husband’s totally smitten with you, Empress Elysoun,’ Patriarch Emban added. ‘Let them think that he tells you everything.’
    ‘Are you smitten with me, Sarabian?’ Elysoun asked archly.
    ‘Oh, absolutely, my dear,’ he smiled. ‘I adore you.’
    ‘What a nice thing to say.’ She smiled warmly.
    ‘Later, children,’ Melidere told them absently, her forehead furrowed with concentration. ‘At the same time you tell Chacole about Berit’s disguise, drop a few hints about a fleet of Church ships in the Gulf of Daconia. Stragen’s been very carefully planting that particular lie, so let’s give them some confirmation. After you tell them about Berit, they’ll be inclined to believe your story about the fleet.’ She looked at the Emperor. ‘Is there anything else we can give them that won’t hurt us? Something they can verify?’
    ‘Does it have to be important?’
    ‘Not really, just something that’s true. We need another truth to get the mix right.’
    ‘The mix?’
    ‘It’s like a recipe, your Majesty,’ she smiled. ‘Two parts truth to one part lie, stir well and serve. If you get the mix right, they’ll swallow the whole thing.’
    They had set out at first light, and the sun had not yet risen when they topped a low ridge and saw a vast, flat expanse of dead whiteness lying ahead. Time, like climate, had lost all