The Hidden City

him.’
    ‘It’s not a who, Vymer,’ Talen said. ‘It’s a where. Cyrga’s a town over in Cynesga.’
    ‘Really?’ Stragen’s expression grew curious. ‘This is the first time I’ve ever heard the name. Where is it? What route would you take to get to Cyrga?’
    ‘The pathway lies close by the Well of Vigay,’ the diseased Ogerajin announced in a loud, declamatory voice.
    Valash made a slightly strangled noise and ineffectually tried to wave his hands warningly in front of his master’s face, but Ogerajin brushed him aside. ‘Keep morning at thy back,’ the Styric continued.
    ‘Master Ogerajin,’ Valash protested in a squeaky tone.
    ‘Silence, knave,’ Ogerajin thundered at him. ‘I will answer this traveler’s question. If it is his intent to present himself and bow down to Cyrgon, he must know the way. Proceed, traveler, past the Well of Vigay and trek northwesterly into the desert. Thy destination shall be the Forbidden Mountains where none may go without Cyrgon’s leave except at their peril. When thou dost reach those black, forbidding heights, seek ye the Pillars of Cyrgon, for without them to guide thee, Cyrga will remain forever hidden.’
    ‘Please, Master.’ Valash was helplessly wringing his hands as he stared in chagrin at the raving old lunatic.
    ‘I have commanded thy silence, knave. Speak once more and thou shalt surely die.’ He turned back to fix Stragen with his single wild eye. ‘Be not dismayed, traveler, by the Plains of Salt which nomads fear to cross. Ride, boldly ride across the dead whiteness, empty of life save only where miscreants labor in the quarries to mine the precious salt.
    ‘From the verge of the Plains of Salt wilt thou behold low on the horizon before thee the dark shapes of the Forbidden Mountains, and, if it please Cyrgon, his fiery white pillars will guide thee to his Hidden City. Let not the Plain of Bones disquiet thee. The bones are those of the nameless slaves who toil until death for Cyrgon’s chosen, and, having served their purpose, are then given to the desert.
    ‘Beyond the Plain of Bones wilt thou come to the Gates of illusion behind which lies concealed the Hidden City of Cyrga. The eye of mortal man cannot perceive those gates. Stark they stand as a fractured wall at the verge of the Forbidden Mountains to bar thy way. Bend thine eye, however, upon Cyrgon’s two white pilars and direct thy steps toward the emptiness which doth lie between them. Trust not the evidence which thine eye doth present unto thee, for the solid-seeming wall is as mist and will not bar thy way. Pass through it and proceed along the dark coridor to the Glen of Heroes where lie the unnumbered regiments of Cyrgon in restless sleep, awaiting the trumpet call of his mighty voice summoning them forth once more to smite his enemies.’
    Valash stepped back a pace and urgently beckoned to Talen to follow him. Curious, Talen followed the Dacite. ‘Don’t pay any attention to Master Ogerajin, boy,’ Valash said urgently. ‘He hasn’t been well lately, and he has these spells quite often.’
    ‘I’d already guessed that, Master Valash. Shouldn’t you get him to a physician? He’s really raving, you know.’
    ‘There’s nothing a physician could do for him,’ Valash shrugged. ‘Just make sure that Vymer understands that the old man doesn’t know what he’s talking about.’ Valash seemed unusually concerned about Ogerajin’s ravings.
    ‘He already knows, Master Valash. Any time somebody starts throwing the “thee’s” and “thou’s” around, you can be fairly sure that his saddle’s starting to slip.’
    The diseased Styric was still raving in that hollow, declamatory voice. ‘Beyond the Glen of Heroes wilt thou see the Well of Cyrgon, sparkling in the sun and sustaining the Hidden City. close by the well in fields laced with channels thou wilt see black Cyrga rising like a mountain within its walls of night. Go boldly there and into the city of the Blessed Cyrgai. Mount the steep streets to the summit of that enclosed peak, and there at the Crown of the known world thou wilt find amid that blackness the white, where columns of chalk bear the lintels and roof of the Holy of Holies wherein Cyrgon burns eternal upon the sacred altar.
    ‘Fall upon thy face in that awful presence, crying “Vnnet, tyek Yalz Cyrgon!” and, should it please him, he will hear thee. And should it please him not, he will destroy thee. Thus, traveler, is the way to the