‘They cut firewood for their masters in this extensive forest. The Cyrgai warm themselves with fires in the chill of winter. The kenneled slaves must endure the weather.’
‘Were you able to get any sense of how the city’s laid out, Anarae?’ Bevier asked her.
‘Some, Sir Knight.’ She beckoned them to the edge of the trees so that they could look across the valley at the black-walled city. ‘The Cyrgai themselves live on the slopes of the hill which doth rise within the walls,’ she explained, ‘and they do hold themselves aloof from the more mundane portion of the city below. There is yet another wall within the outer one, and that inner wall doth protect Cyrgon’s Chosen from contact with inferior races. The lower city doth contain the slave-pens, the warehouses for foodstuffs, and the barracks of the Cynesgans who oversee the slaves and man the outer wall. As thou canst see, there is yet that final wall which doth enclose the summit of the hill. Within that ultimate wall lieth the palace of King Santheocles and the temple of Cyrgon.’
Bevier nodded. ‘It’s fairly standard for a fortified town then.’
‘If thou wert aware of all this, why didst thou ask, Sir Knight?’ she asked tartly.
‘Confirmation, dear lady,’ he replied, smiling. ‘The city’s ten thousand years old. They might have had different ideas about how to build a fort before the invention of modern weapons.’ He squinted across the valley at walled Cyrga. ‘They’re obviously willing to sacrifice the lower city,’ he said. ‘Otherwise that outer wall would be defended by Cyrgai. The fact that they’ve turned that chore over to the Cynesgans means that they don’t place much value on those warehouses and slave-pens. The wall at the foot of “Mount Cyrgon” will be more fiercely defended, and if necessary, they’ll pull back up the hill to that last wall that encloses the palace and the temple.’
‘All of this is well and good, Bevier,’ Kalten interrupted him, but where are Ehlana and Alcan?’
Bevier gave him a surprised look. ‘Up on top, of course,’ he replied, ‘either in the palace or in the temple.’
‘How did you arrive at that?’
‘They’re hostages, Kalten. When you’re holding hostages, you have to keep them close enough to threaten them when your enemies get too close. Our problem is how to get into the city.’
‘We’ll come up with something,’ Sparhawk said confidently. ‘Let’s go back into the woods a ways and set up for the night.’
They moved back among the trees and ate cold rations, since a fire was out of the question.
‘The problem’s still there, Sparhawk,’ Kalten said as evening settled over the hidden valley. ‘How are we going to get inside all those walls?’
‘The first wall’s easy,’ Talen said. ‘We just walk in through the gate.’
‘How do you propose to do that without being challenged?’ Kalten demanded.
‘People walk out of the city every morning and back again every evening, don’t they?’
‘Those are slaves.’
‘Exactly.’
Kalten stared at him.
‘We want to get into the city, don’t we? That’s the easiest way.’
‘What about the other walls?’ Bevier objected.
‘One wall at a time, Sir Knight,’ Talen said gaily, ‘one wall at a time. Let’s get through the outer one first. Then we’ll worry about the other two.’
Daiya the Peloi came riding hard back across the gravelly desert about mid-morning the next day. ‘We’ve found them, your Reverence,’ he reported to Bergsten as he reined in. ‘The Cynesgan cavalry tried to lead us away from where they’re hiding, but we found them anyway. They’re in those hills just ahead of us.’
‘More of those big ones with masks on their faces?’ Heldin asked.
‘Some of those, friend Heldin,’ Daiya replied. ‘But there are others as well—wearing old-fashioned helmets and carrying spears.’
‘Cyrgai,’ Bergsten grunted. ‘Vanion mentioned them. Their tactics are so archaic that they won’t be much of a problem.’
‘Where exactly are they, friend Daiya?’ Heldin asked.
‘They’re in a large canyon on the east side of those hills, friend Heldin. My scouts saw them from the canyon-rim.’
‘We definitely don’t want to go into that canyon after them, your Grace,’ Heldin cautioned. ‘They’re infantry, and close quartors are made to order for their tactics. We’ll have to devise some way to get them to come out into the open.’
Atana Maris asked Neran a question in Tamul, and he replied at some length. She nodded, spoke briefly to him, and then she ran off toward the south.
‘Where’s she going?’ Bergsten demanded.
‘She said that your enemies have laid a trap for you, your Grace,’ Neran replied with a shrug. ‘She’s going to go spring it.’
‘Stop her, Heldin!’ Bergsten said sharply.
It must be said in Sir Heldin’s defense that he did try to catch up to the lithe, fleet-footed Atan girl, but she merely glanced back over her shoulder, laughed, and ran even faster, leaving him far behind, flogging at his horse and muttering curses.
Bergsten’s curses were not muttered. He blistered the air around him. ‘What is she doing?’ he demanded of Neran.
‘They’re planning an ambush, your Grace,’ Neran replied calmly. ‘It won’t work if somebody sees them hiding in that canyon. Atana Maris is going to run into the canyon, let them see her, and then run out again. They’ll have to try to catch her. That’ll bring them out into the open. You might want to give some thought to picking up your pace just a bit. She’ll be terribly disappointed in you if you’re not in position when she leads them out.’
Patriarch Bergsten looked out across the desert at the golden Atana running smoothly to the south with her long black hair flying behind her. Then he swore again, rose up in his stirrups, and bellowed, ‘Charge!’
Ekrasios and his comrades reached Synaqua late in the afternoon just as the sun broke through the heavy cloud-cover which had obscured the sky for the past several days. The ruins of Synaqua were in much greater disrepair than had been the case with Panem-Doa and Norenja. The entire east wall had been undercut by one of the numerous streams which flowed sluggishly through the soggy delta of the Arjun River, and it had collapsed at some unknown time in the past. When Scarpa’s rebels had moved in to occupy the ruin, they had replaced it with a log palisade. The construction was shoddy, and the palisade was not particularly imposing.
Ekrasios considered that as he sat alone moodily watching the sun sinking into a cloud-bank off to the west. A serious problem had arisen following their disastrous assault on Norenja. It had appeared that there were many gates through which the panic-stricken rebels could flee, but their commander had blocked off those gates with heaps of rubble as a part of his defenses. The terrified soldiers had been trapped inside the walls, and had therefore had no choice but to turn and fight. Hundreds had died in unspeakable agony before Ekrasios had been able to divert his men into the uninhabited parts of the ruin so that the escape-route through the main gate was open. Many of the Delphae had wept openly at the horror they had been forced to inflict on men who were essentially no more than misguided peasants. It had taken Ekrasios two days and all of his eloquence to keep half his men from abandoning the cause and returning immediately to Delphaeus.
Adras, Ekrasios’ boyhood friend and his second-in-command, was among the most profoundly disturbed. Adras now avoided his leader whenever possible, and the few communications that passed between them were abrupt and official. And so it was that Ekrasios was somewhat surprised when Adras came to him unsummoned in the ruddy glow of that fiery sunset.
‘A word with thee, Ekrasios,’ he asked tentatively.
‘Of course, Adras. Thou knowst that it is not needful for thee to ask.’