The Hidden City

take him someplace else to repair him.’
    ‘The island?’ Vanion guessed.
    She nodded. ‘I can control things there. This is still Cynesga, Cyrgon’s place. I don’t think he’d give me permission no matter how sweetly I asked him. Can you pray here, Betuana?’
    The Atan Queen shook her head. ‘Only in Atan itself.’
    ‘I’m going to talk to your God about that. It’s really very inconvenient.’
    She bent again and put her hand on Engessa’s chest. The Atan general appeared to stop breathing, and his face and body were suddenly covered with frost.
    ‘You’ve killed him!’ Betuana shrieked at her.
    ‘Oh, hush. I just froze him to stop the bleeding until I can get him to the island. The injury itself isn’t so bad, but the bleeding’s tearing up the rest of his brain. The freezing slows it down to a trickle. That’s all I can do for right now, but it should be enough to keep his body from doing any more damage to itself while you’re taking him back to Sama.’
    ‘There’s no hope,’ Betuana said with a look of anguish.
    ‘What are you talking about? I can have him back on his feet in a day or two—but I have to take him to the island where I can control time. The brain is easy. It’s the heart that’s so—well, never mind that. Listen closely, Betuana. As soon as you and Vanion get him to Sama, I want you to go to the Atan border as fast as you can run. As soon as you get across that line, fall on your knees and start praying to your God. He’ll be stubborn—he always is—but keep after him. Make a pest of yourself until he gives in. I need his permission to take Engessa to my island. If nothing else works, promise him that I’ll do something nice for him someday. Don’t be too specific, though. Keep bearing down on the fact that I can save Engessa, and he can’t.’
    ‘I will do as you have commanded, Divine One,’ Betuana declared.
    ‘I didn’t command, Betuana. I only suggested. I don’t have the authority to command you.’ The Child Goddess turned to Vanion. ‘Let me see your sword,’ she said. ‘I want to have a look at this yellow blood.’
    Vanion drew his sword and offered it to her hilt-first.
    She shuddered. ‘You hold it, dear one. Steel makes me nauseous.’ She squinted at the stains on the blade. ‘Astonishing,’ she murmured. ‘That isn’t blood at all.’
    ‘It’s what came out of them when we cut them.’
    ‘Perhaps, but it’s still not blood. It’s some kind of bile. Klael’s going a little far afield for allies. Those giants you ran across don’t come from here, Vanion. They aren’t like any creatures on this world.’
    ‘We noticed that almost immediately, Divine One.’
    ‘I’m not talking about their size or shape, Vanion. They don’t even seem to have the same kind of internal organs as the humans and animals. I’d guess that they don’t even have lungs.’
    ‘Everything has lungs, Aphrael—except maybe fish.’
    ‘That’s here, dear one. If these creatures have bile in their veins instead of blood, then they’re relying on their livers for—’ she broke off, frowning. ‘I guess it is possible,’ she said a little dubiously. ‘I’d hate to smell the air on their world, though.’
    ‘You do know that I haven’t got the foggiest idea of what you’re talking about, don’t you?’
    She smiled. ‘That’s all right, dear one. I love you anyway.’
    ‘Thank you.’
    ‘Don’t mention it.’
    ‘It could be good country, friend Tikume,’ Kring said, adjusting his black leather jerkin and looking around at the rocky desert. ‘It’s open and not too rugged. All it needs is water—and a few good people.’ The two of them rode at the front of their disorganized mob of Peloi.
    Tikume grinned. ‘When you get right down to it, friend Kring, that’s all Hell really needs.’
    Kring laughed. ‘How far is it to this Cynesgan camp?’ he asked.
    ‘Another five leagues. It’s easy fighting, Domi Kring. The Cynesgans ride horses and carry curved swords much like your sabers,. but their horses are scrubby and not very good, and the Cynesgans are too lazy to practice their swordsmanship. To make it even better, they wear flowing robes with big, floppy sleeves. Half the time they get tangled up in their own clothing.’
    Kring’s grin was wolfish.
    ‘They run fairly well,’ Tikume added, ‘but they always come back.’
    ‘To the same camps?’ Kring asked incredulously.
    Tikume nodded. ‘It makes it even easier. We