The Hidden City

between Tamul Proper and Cynesga, doesn’t it?’
    ‘Technically, I suppose.’ The Domi shrugged. ‘The curse-line’s a couple of miles further west, though.’
    ‘The boundary’s changed several times over the years,’ Sephrenia explained.
    ‘Ticume thought I should come up here and talk things over with you, friend Vanion,’ Kring said then. ‘We don’t want to interfere with Sparhawk, so we haven’t been going too far into Cynesga, but we’re running out of people to chase.’
    ‘How far in have you been going?’ Vanion asked.
    ‘Six or seven leagues,’ Kring replied. ‘We come back to Samar every night—although there’s no real reason for it now. I don’t think there’s any danger of a siege any more.’
    ‘No,’ Vanion agreed. ‘We’ve pushed them enough so that they can’t really concentrate on Samar now.’ He opened his map and frowned at it for a few moments, then he dropped to one knee and spread it out on the winter-brown grass. ‘Step on that corner, please,’ he said to Sephrenia. ‘I don’t want to have to chase it again.’
    Kring looked puzzled.
    ‘Household joke,’ Sephrenia explained, putting one small foot on the corner of Vanion’s map. ‘Vanion’s fond of maps, and an errant breeze turned his current favorite into a kite two days ago.’
    Vanion let that pass. ‘I’ll agree that we don’t want to crowd Sparhawk, Domi, but I think we’ll want to build some fortified positions out there in the desert. They’ll give us jumping-off places when we start our advance on Cyrga.’
    ‘I had the same thought, friend Vanion.’
    ‘Let’s establish a presence across that border,’ Vanion decided. ‘I’ll send word to Betuana, and she’ll do the same.’
    ‘How deep in should we go?’ Kring asked.
    Vanion looked at Sephrenia. ‘Ten leagues?’ he suggested.
    ‘That’s not so deep that we’ll be stepping on Sparhawk’s heels but we’ll have room to maneuver, and it’ll give you some elbow-room for that spell of yours.’
    ‘Using the spell’s a good plan, friend Vanion,’ Kring said a bit dubiously. ‘But you’re deliberately drawing the best our enemies can throw at us to yourself—and to Lady Sephrenia. Is that what you want? I don’t mean to be offensive, but your fight with Klael’s soldiers seriously reduced your ranks.’
    ‘That’s one of the reasons I want forts out there in the desert, Domi,’ Vanion said wryly. ‘If worst comes to worst, I’ll pull back into those positions. I’m almost sure I can count on some dear friends on my flanks to come to my rescue.’
    ‘Well said,’ Sephrenia murmured.
    ‘Stop,’ Khalad said sharply, reining in his horse when they were perhaps five miles outside Vigayo.
    ‘What is it?’ Berit asked tensely.
    ‘Somebody named Ramshorn died,’ Khalad said, pointing. ‘I think we should stop and pay our respects.’
    Berit looked at the crude grave beside the trail. ‘I looked right through it,’ he confessed. ‘Sorry, Khalad.’
    ‘Pay attention, my Lord.’
    ‘It seems you’ve said that before.’
    They dismounted and approached the rude ‘grave’.
    ‘Clever,’ Berit murmured quietly. It was probably not necessary to lower his voice, but it had gotten to be a habit.
    ‘Talen’s idea, probably,’ Khalad said as they both knelt beside the mound. ‘It’s a little subtle for Sparhawk.’
    ‘Isn’t that supposed to be two words?’ Berit asked, pointing at the weathered plank with ‘Ramshorn’ roughly carved into its face.
    ‘You’re the educated one, my Lord. Don’t touch those rocks.’
    ‘Which rocks?’
    ‘The yellow ones. We’ll mix them up as soon as I read them.
    ‘You read rocks? Is that like reading seagulls?’
    ‘Not exactly. It’s a message from Sparhawk. He and my father worked this out a long time ago.’ The short-bearded young man leaned first this way and then that, squinting at the mound.
    ‘Naturally,’ he said finally with a certain resignation. He rose and moved to the head of the grave.
    ‘What?’
    ‘Sparhawk wrote it upside down. Now it makes sense.’
    Khalad studied the apparently random placement of the yellowish rocks on top of the predominantly brown mound. ‘Pray, Berit,’ he said. ‘Offer up a prayer for the soul of our departed brother, Ramshorn.’
    ‘You’re not making any sense, Khalad.’
    ‘Somebody might be watching. Act religious.’ The husky young squire took the reins of their horses and led them several yards away from