The Hidden City

success, and what surprise had not accomplished had been more than made up for by the ineptitude of the ceremonial troops.
    Sparhawk concluded that the Cyrgai looked impressive, but that their training over the centuries had become so formalized and detached from reality that it had almost turned into a form of dance instead of a preparation for real combat. Since the Cyrgai could not cross the Styric curse-line, they had not been involved in any real fights for ten thousand years, and so they were hopelessly unprepared for all the nasty little tricks that crop up from time to time in close, hand-to-hand fighting.
    ‘I still don’t see how we’re going to pull this off,’ Talen puffed as he dragged an inert guardsman back into the shadows. ‘One look will tell the gate-guards that we’re not Cyrgai.’
    ‘We’ve already discussed that while you were out scouting, Sparhawk told him. ‘Xanetia and Aphrael are going to mix spells again—the way the Anarae and Sephrenia did back in Matherion. We’ll look enough like Cyrgai to get us through the gate—particularly if the rest of the Cyrgai are as much afraid of these Temple Guardsmen as Xanetia says they are.’
    ‘As long as the subject’s come up,’ Kalten said, ‘after we’ve bluffed our way past those gate-guards, I want my own face back. We stand a fair chance of getting killed tonight, and I’d like to have my own name on my tombstone. Besides, even if by some chance we succeed, I don’t want to startle Alcan by coming at her with a stranger’s face. After what she’s been through, she’s entitled to see the real me.’
    ‘I don’t have any problem with that,’ Sparhawk agreed.

Chapter 30
    Captain Jodral returned just after dark, his loose robe flapping and his eyes wide as he desperately flogged at his horse. ‘We’re doomed, my General!’ he shrieked.
    ‘Get control of yourself Jodral!’ general Piras snapped. ‘What did you see?’
    ‘There are millions of them, General!’ Jodral was still on the verge of hysteria.
    ‘Jodral, you’ve never seen a million of anything. Now, what’s out there?’
    ‘They’re coming across the Sama, General,’ Jodral replied, trying his best to control his quavering voice. ‘The reports about that fleet are true. I saw the ships.’
    ‘Where? We’re ten leagues from the coast.’
    ‘They’ve sailed up the River Sama, General Piras, and they’ve lashed their ships together side by side to form bridges.’
    ‘Absurd. The Sama’s five miles wide down here! Talk sense, man!’
    ‘I know what I saw, General. The other scouts will be along shortly to confirm it. Kaftal’s in flames. You can see the light of the fire from here.’ Jodral turned and pointed south toward a huge, flickering orange glow in the sky above the low coastal hills standing between the Cynesgan forces and the sea.
    General Piras swore. This was the third time this week that his scouts had reported a crossing of the lower Sama or the Verel River, and he had not thus far seen any sign of hostile forces. Under normal circumstances, he’d have simply had his scouts flogged or worse, but these were not normal circumstances. The enemy force that had been harrying the southern coast was made up of the Knights of the Church of Chyrellos to a man—who were quite capable of vanishing and reappearing miles to his rear.
    Still muttering curses, he summoned his adjutant. ‘Sallat!’ he snapped. ‘Wake up the troops. Tell them to prepare themselves! If those accursed knights are crossing the Sama here, we’ll have to engage them before they can establish a foothold on this side of the river.’
    ‘It’s just another ruse, my General,’ his adjutant said, looking at Captain Jodral with contempt. ‘Every time some idiot sees three fishermen in a boat, we get a report of a crossing.’
    ‘rivers.’ The General spread his hands helplessly. ‘What else can I do?’ He swore again. ‘Sound the charge, Sallat. Maybe this time we’ll find somebody real when we reach the river.’
    Alcan was trembling violently when Zalasta returned the two captives to the small but now scrupulously clean cell following yet another of those hideous, silent interviews with the bat-winged Klael, but Ehlana felt drained of all emotion. There was a perverse seductiveness to the strangely gentle probing of that intricate mind, and Ehlana always felt violated and befouled when it was over.
    ‘That will be the last time, Ehlana,’ Zalasta told her