The Hidden City

in the dark forests of ignorance. And the names of these dragons are “incompetence” and “Political Bias” and “Deliberate Distortion” and “Sheer, Wrongheaded Stupidity”. Our gallant friends here in Contemporary History bravely sallied forth to do battle with these dragons in their recently published “Cyrga Affair”. It is with the deepest regret that I must inform you that the dragons won.’
    There was more laughter, and dark scowls from the front row.
    ‘It’s never been any secret at this institution that the Contemporary History Department is a political entity rather than an academic one,’ Itagne continued. ‘It has been sponsored from its very inception by the Prime Minister, and its only reasons for existence have been to gloss over his blunders and to conceal as best they might his absolute incompetence. To be sure, Prime Minister Subat and his accomplice, Interior Minister Kolata, have never been interested in the truth, but please, gentlemen, this is a university. Shouldn’t we at least pretend to be telling the truth?’
    ‘Rubbish!’ a burly academic in the front row bellowed.
    ‘Yes,’ Itagne replied, holding up a yellow-bound copy of “The Cyrga Affair”, ‘I noticed that myself. But if you knew it was rubbish, Professor Pessalt, why did you publish it?’
    The laughter in the hall was even louder this time, and it drowned out Pessalt’s spluttered attempt to answer.
    ‘Let us push on with this great work that we are in,’ Itagne suggested. ‘We all know Pondia Subat for the scheming incompetent he really is, but the only thing that most baffles me about your “Cyrga Affair” is its consistent attempt to elevate the Styric renegade Zalasta to near sainthood. How in the name of God could anyone—even someone as severely limited as the Prime Minister—revere this scoundrel?’
    ‘How dare you speak so of the greatest man of this century?’ one of the hacks screamed at him.
    ‘If Zalasta’s the best this century can manage, colleague, I think we’re in deep trouble. But we digress. The crisis which Contemporary History chooses to call “The Cyrga Affair” has been brewing for several years.’
    ‘Yes,’ someone shouted with heavy sarcasm, ‘we noticed that!’
    ‘I’m so happy for you,’ Itagne murmured, drawing another loud laugh from the audience. ‘To whom did our idiot Prime Minister turn for aid? To Zalasta, of course. And what was Zalasta’s answer to the crisis? He urged us to send for the Pandion Knight, Prince Sparhawk of Elenia. Why would the name of an Elene nobleman leap to Zalasta’s lips in answer to the question—almost before it was asked—particularly in view of the sorry record of the Elenes in their relations with the Styrics?
    ‘To be sure, Prince Sparhawk’s exploits are legendary, but what was it about the man that made Zalasta pine so for his company? And why was it that Zalasta neglected to tell us that Sparhawk is Anakha, the instrument of the Bhelliom? Did the fact somehow slip his mind? Did he think that the spirit which creates whole universes was somehow irrelevant? I find no mention at all about Bhelliom in this recently published heap of bird-droppings. Did you omit the most momentous event of the past eon deliberately? Were you so caught up in trying to give your adored Pondia Subat credit for policy decisions he had no part in that you decided not to mention Bhelliom at all?’
    ‘Balderdash!’ a deep voice roared.
    ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Professor Balderdash. My name’s Itagne. It was good of you to introduce yourself. Thanks awfully, old boy.’
    The laughter was tumultuous this time.
    ‘Fast on his feet, isn’t he?’ Itagne heard Ulath murmur to Bevier.
    Itagne looked up. ‘Colleagues,’ he said, ‘I submit that it was not Prince Sparhawk that Zalasta so yearned for, but the Bhelliom. Bhelliom is the source of ultimate power, and Zalasta has been trying to get his hands on it for three centuries—for reasons too disgusting to mention. He has been willing to go to any lengths. He has betrayed his faith, his people, and his personal integrity—such as it was—to gain what the Trolls call “The Flower-Gem”.’
    ‘That tears it!’ the corpulent Quinsal declared, rising to his feet. ‘This man is mad. Now he’s talking about Trolls! This is an academic affair, Itagne, not the children’s hour. You’ve picked the wrong forum for fairy-tales and ghost stories.’
    ‘Why don’t you let me do