The Hidden City

Khwaj,’ he said. ‘It is right that I should do this, for Khwaj and I are pack-mates.’
    The enormity of the Fire-God appeared, steaming away the snow covering the meadow around him. ‘Will Bhelliom’s Child be bound by the word of his pack-mate, Ulath-from-Thalesia?’ he demanded in a voice that roared like a furnace.
    ‘The word of Ulath-from-Thalesia is my word, Khwaj,’ honorable Anakha conceded.
    ‘Then the wicked one is mine!’
    Regretful Anakha curbed his wrath. ‘The words of Khwaj are right words,’ he agreed. ‘If Ulath-from-Thalesia has given the wicked one to Khwaj, then I will not say that it shall not be so.’
    He looked at the terrified Styric, who was struggling desperately to retain some small measure of defense. ‘It is yours, Khwaj. It has caused me much hurt, and I would cause hurt to it in return, but if Ulath-from-Thalesia has said that it is the place of Khwaj to cause hurt to it, then so be it.’
    ‘Bhelliom’s Child speaks well. You have honor, Anakha.’ The Fire-God looked accusingly at Zalasta. ‘You have done great wickedness, one-called-Zalasta.’
    Zalasta stared at Khwaj in terrified incomprehension.
    ‘Say to it what I have said, Anakha,’ Khwaj requested. ‘It must know why it is being punished.’
    Courteous Anakha said, ‘I will, Khwaj.’ He looked sternly at the dishevelled Styric. ‘You have caused me much pain, Zalasta,’ he said in a dreadful voice, speaking in Styric. ‘I was going to repay you for all those friends of mine you destroyed or corrupted, but Khwaj here has laid claim to you, and for various reasons I’m going to honor his claim. You should have stayed away, Zalasta. Vanion would have hunted you down eventually, but death is a little thing, and once it’s over, it’s over. What Khwaj is going to do to you will last for eternity.’
    ‘Does it understand?’ Khwaj demanded.
    ‘In some measure, Khwaj.’
    ‘In time it will understand more, and it has much time. It has always.’ And the dreadful Fire-God blew away Zalasta’s last pitiful defenses and laid a strangely gentle hand on the cringing Styric’s head. ‘Burn!’ he commanded. ‘Run and burn until the end of days!’
    And, all aflame, Zalasta of Styricum went out from that place shrieking and engulfed in endless fire.
    Compassionate Anakha sighed as he watched the burning man run out across the snowy meadow, growing smaller and smaller in the distance and with his cries of agony and woe and unspeakable loneliness receding with him as he began the first hour of his eternal punishment.

Epilogue
    The following day dawned clear and cold. The sun on the snowfields blanketing the surrounding mountains was dazzling, and the lake at the center of the hidden Valley of Delphaeus gleamed.
    The wedding had, of course, been postponed, and was now to take place this evening. There had been questions, naturally, but Sparhawk had put them to rest by explaining that everything that had happened had been Bhelliom’s doing, and that he had only been its instrument, which was not exactly a lie. They spent the day quietly and gathered again as the sun went down and the shadows of evening settled over the valley.
    A strange sense of anticipation had nagged at Sparhawk all afternoon. Something was going to happen here. Bhelliom had told him that he would behold a wonder, and that was not the kind of word Bhelliom would use lightly.
    The shadows of evening deepened, and Sparhawk and the other men escorted Vanion down to the shore of the glowing lake to await the bride’s party while the Shining Ones once again sang the ancient hymn which had been so abruptly broken off the previous evening.
    Then the bride appeared at the gate with the Queen of Elenia at her side and the other ladies close behind them. The Child Goddess, whirling and dancing in the air and with her clear voice raised in flute-song, preceded them, again strewing their path with flower petals.
    Sephrenia’s face was serene as she came down the path to the lake. As the small Styric bride approached the man whom two major religions had forbidden her to marry, her personal Goddess provided a visible symbol that she, at least, approved. The stars had just begun to appear overhead, and one of them seemed to have lost its way. Like a tiny comet, a brilliant spark of light descended over the radiant Sephrenia and settled gently on her head as a glowing garland of spring flowers.
    Sparhawk smiled gently. The similarity to the