The Hidden City

I’d advise you to talk fast if you do. Khalad’s a very abrupt young man, and he’ll probably have you hanging from a meat-hook before you get out three words.’
    Krager didn’t answer, but slipped away instead, his shaved scalp pale in the darkness. It wasn’t much of a victory, Ehlana privately conceded, but in her situation victories of any kind were very hard to come by.
    ‘They actually do that?’ Scarpa’s harsh voice was hungry.
    ‘It’s an old custom, Lord Scarpa,’ Ehlana replied in a meek voice, keeping her eyes downcast as they plodded along the muddy path. ‘Emperor Sarabian is planning to discontinue the practice, however.’
    ‘It will be reinstituted immediately following my coronation.’ Scarpa’s eyes were very bright. ‘It is a proper form of respect.’
    Scarpa had an old purple velvet cloak, shiny with wear, that he had dramatically pulled over one shoulder in a grotesque imitation of an imperial mantle, and he struck absurd poses with each pronouncement.
    ‘As you say, Lord Scarpa.’ It was tedious to go over the same things again and again, but it kept Scarpa’s mind occupied, and when his attention was firmly fixed on the ceremonies and practices of the imperial court in Matherion he was not thinking of ways to make life unbearable for his captives.
    ‘Describe it again,’ he commanded. ‘I’ll need to know precisely how it’s supposed to be done—so that I can punish those who fail to perform it properly.’
    Ehlana sighed. ‘At the approach of the imperial person, the members of the court kneel. ’
    ‘On both knees?’
    ‘Yes, Lord Scarpa.’
    ‘Excellent. excellent!’ His face was exalted. ‘Go on.’
    ‘Then, as the emperor passes, they lean forward, put the palms of their hands on the floor and touch their foreheads to the tiles.’
    ‘Capital!’ He suddenly giggled, a high-pitched, almost girlish sound that startled her. She gave him a quick, sidelong glance. His face was grotesquely distorted into an expression of unholy exaltation. And then his eyes grew wide and his expression became one of near-religious ecstasy. ‘And the Tamuls who rule the world shall be ruled by me!’ he intoned in a resonant, declamatory voice. ‘All power shall be mine. The governance of the world shall be in my hands, and disobedience will be death!’
    Ehlana shuddered as he raved on.
    And he came to her again as humid night settled over their muddy forest encampment, drawn to her by a hunger, a greed, that was beyond his ability to control. It was revolting, but Ehlana realized that her knowledge of the particulars of traditional court ceremonies gave her an enormous power over him. His hunger was insatiable, and only she could satisfy it.
    She grasped that power firmly, drawing strength and confidence from it, actually relishing it even as Krager and the others withdrew with expressions of frightened revulsion.
    ‘Nine wives, you say?’ Scarpa’s voice was almost pleading. ‘Why not ninety? Why not nine hundred?’
    ‘It is the custom, Lord Scarpa. The reason for it should be obvious.’
    ‘Oh, of course, of course.’ He brooded darkly over it. ‘I shall have nine thousand!’ he proclaimed. ‘And each shall be more desirable than the last. And when I have finished with them, they shall be given to my loyal soldiers. Let no woman dare to believe that my favor in any way empowers her. All women are only whores. I shall buy them and throw them away when I tire of them!’ his mad eyes bulged, and he stared into the campfire. The flickering flames reflected in those eyes seemed to seethe like the madness that lay behind them.
    He leaned toward her, laying a confiding hand on her arm.
    ‘I have seen that which others are too stupid to see,’ he told her. ‘Others look, but they do not see—but I see. Oh, yes, I see very well. They are all in it together, you know—all of them. They watch me. They have always watched me. I can never get away from their eyes—watching, watching, watching and talking—talking behind their hands, breathing their cinnamon-scented breath into each other’s faces. All foul and corrupt—scheming, plotting against me, trying to bring me down. Their eyes—all soft and hidden and veiled with the lashes that hide the daggers of their hatred, watching, watching, watching.’ His voice sank lower and lower. ‘And talking, talking behind their hands so that I can’t hear what they’re saying. Whispering. I hear it always. I hear the