The Hidden City

yourself, you know.’
    ‘Don’t beat it into the ground, Aphrael. If you don’t want to, then we’ll just plow our way through the snow. We’ve done it before.’
    ‘You’re hateful, Sparhawk. You know I won’t let you do that.’
    ‘Now do you see what I mean about the power of loyalties and obligations?’
    ‘Don’t start lecturing me. I’m in no mood for it. Go wake up the others, and let’s get started.’
    ‘Whatever you say, Divine One.’
    They located the rather large communal kitchen in which the Delphae had prepared all their meals and the storerooms where the food was kept. Despite their eons of enmity, the dietary prejudices of the Styrics and Delphae were remarkably similar. Sephrenia found the breakfast much to her liking, but Kalten grumbled a great deal. He did eat three helpings, however.
    ‘Whatever happened to friend Bhlokw?’ Kring asked, pushing back his plate. ‘I just realized that I haven’t seen him since Zalasta took fire.’
    ‘He went off with his Gods, Domi,’ Tynian replied. ‘He did what they sent him to do, and now he and the rest of the Trolls are on their way back to Thalesia. He wished us all good hunting. That’s about as close as a Troll can come to saying goodbye.’
    ‘It might sound a little strange,’ Kring admitted, ‘but I liked him.’
    ‘He’s a good pack-mate,’ Ulath said. ‘He hunts well, and he’s willing to share what he kills with the others in the pack.’
    ‘Oh, yes,’ Tynian agreed with a shudder. ‘If it wasn’t a freshly-killed dog, it was a haunch of raw Cyrgai.’
    ‘It was what he had, Tynian,’ Ulath defended his shaggy friend, ‘and he was ready to share it. You can’t ask more than that, can you?’
    ‘Sir Ulath,’ Talen said, ‘I’ve just eaten. Do you suppose we could talk about something else?’
    They saddled their horses and rode out of Delphaeus.
    As he left, Khalad reined in, dismounted, and closed the gate.
    ‘Why did you do that?’ Talen asked him. ‘The Delphae aren’t coming back, you know.’
    ‘It’s the proper thing to do,’ Khalad said as he remounted. ‘Leaving it open would have been disrespectful.’
    Since they all knew who she really was, Flute made no attempt to conceal her tampering this time. The horses plodded along, as horses will if they aren’t being pushed, but every few minutes the horizon flickered and changed. Once, somewhat east of Dirgis, Sparhawk rose in his stirrups to look to the rear. Their clearly visible trail stretched back to the middle of an open meadow where it stopped abruptly, almost as if the horses and riders had been dropped there out of the sky.
    They reached the now-familiar hilltop overlooking fire-domed Matherion and its harbor just as evening was approaching, and they rode on down to the city gratefully. They had all been long on the road, and it was good to be home again. Sparhawk rather quickly amended that thought in his mind. Matherion was not really home. Home was a dank, unlovely city on the Cimmura River, half a world away.
    There were some startled looks at the gate of the imperial compound, and yet more startled looks at the drawbridge to Ehlana’s castle. Vanion had stubbornly rejected his wife’s urgings to conceal his head and face with the hood of his cloak, and it quite literally flaunted the fact that some thirty-odd years had somehow fallen away. Vanion was like that sometimes.
    There were some visible changes inside the castle as well. They found the Emperor in the blue-draped sitting-room on the second floor, and in addition to Baroness Melidere, Emban and Oscagne, three of his wives, Elysoun, Gahennas, and Liatris ere also present. Elysoun was probably the most notable, since she was now modestly dressed.
    ‘Good God, Vanion!’ Emban exclaimed when he saw the Pandion Preceptor. ‘What’s happened to you?’
    ‘I got married, your Grace,’ Vanion replied. He smoothed back his mahogany-colored hair. ‘This was one of the wedding presents. Do you like it?’
    ‘You look ridiculous!’
    ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that,’ Sephrenia disagreed. ‘I rather like it.’
    ‘I gather that congratulations are in order,’ Sarabian said urbanely.
    There was a marked difference in the Tamul Emperor. He had a self-confidence and a commanding presence that had not been there before. ‘Considering the enormous religious barriers, who performed the ceremony?’
    ‘Xanetia did, your Majesty,’ Vanion replied. ‘Delphaeic doctrine didn’t