The Hidden City by David Eddings
The Tamuli book 3
WAR TO THE DEATH
The Pandion Knight Sparhawk had bested the massed forces of the God
Cyrgon upon the field of battle. But victory turned to ashes when the
foul God’s minions kidnapped Sparhawk’s wife, the beautiful Queen
Ehlana. Sparhawk must surrender Bhelliom, the awesome jewel of
power–or Ehlana would die.
But Cyrgon’s lackeys had misjudged their foe. Sparhawk fought on, and
none of his companions flinched from the awesome struggle, though each
must vanquish forces of evil from Tamuli’s dark past, and from fetid
places beyond human ken.
Still, the full magnitude of their peril was yet to be
revealed…Cyrgon had dared the unthinkable: He had called forth
Klael, Bhelliom’s opposite, to rend the very world asunder. Thus, as
it had ever been decreed, would Bhelliom and Klael contend for the
fate of this world–even as the man Sparhawk must finally face the God
Cyrgon, in mortal combat and alone…
prologue
This was not Going to go well, he concluded wryly, crumpling
up and discarding yet another sheet of notes. Word of his subject
had been broadcast across the campus, and academics from as
far away as Applied Mathematics and Contemporary Alchemy
packed the hall, their eyes bright with anticipation. The entire
faculty of the Contemporary History Department filled the front
rows, their black academic robes making them look like a flock
of crows. Contemporary History was here in force to ensure all
the fireworks anyone could hope for.
Itagne idly considered a feigned collapse. How in the name
of God – any God – was he going to get through the next hour
without making a total ass of himself? He had all the facts, of
course, but what rational man would believe the facts? A straight-
forward account of what had really happened during the recent
turmoil would sound like the ravings of a lunatic. If he stuck to
straight truth, the hacks from Contemporary History would not
have to say a word. He could destroy his own reputation with
no help from them at all.
Itagne took one more brief glance at his carefully prepared
notes. Then he folded them and thrust them back into
the voluminous sleeve of his academic robe. What was going to
happen here tonight would more closely resemble a tavern brawl
than reasoned discourse. Contemporary History had obviously
showed up to shout him down. Itagne squared his shoulders.
Well, if they wanted a fight, he’d give them one.
A breeze had come up. The curtains at the tall windows
rustled and billowed, and the golden tongues of Flame flickering
in the oil lamps wavered and danced. It was a beautiful spring
evening – everywhere but here inside this auditorium.
There was a polite spattering of applause, and old professor
Gintana, flustered and confused by this acknowledgement of
his existence, bowed awkwardly, clutched his notes in both
hands, and tottered back to his seat. Then the Dean of the College
of Political Science rose to announce the evening’s main
event. ‘Colleagues,’ he began, ‘before Professor Itagne favors us
with his remarks, I would like to take this opportunity to introduce
some visitors of note. I’m sure you will all join with me in
welcoming Patriarch Emban, First Secretary of the Church of
Chyrellos, Sir Bevier, the Cyrinic Knight from Arcium and Sir
Ulath of the Genidian Order located in Thalesia.’
There was more polite applause as Itagne hurried across the
platform to greet his Elene friends. ‘Thank God you’re here,’ he
said fervently. ‘The whole Contemporary History Department’s
turned out – except for the few who are probably outside boiling
the tar and bringing up bags of feathers.’
‘You didn’t think your brother was going to hang You out to
dry, did you, Itagne?’ Emban smiled. ‘He thought you might
get lonesome here, so he sent us to keep you company.’
Itagne felt better as he returned to his seat. If nothing else,
Bevier and Ulath could head off any physical attacks.
‘And now, colleagues and distinguished guests,’ the Dean
continued, ‘Professor Itagne of the Foreign Affairs Department
will respond to a recent paper published by the Department of
Contemporary History under the title, “The Cyrga Affair: An
Examination of the Recent Crisis”. Professor Itagne.’
Itagne rose, strode purposefully to the lectern and assumed
his most offensively civilized expression. ‘Dean Aldus, distinguished
colleagues, faculty wives, honored guests -‘ He
paused. ‘Did I leave anybody out?’
There was a titter of nervous laughter. Tension was high in
the hall. ‘i’m particularly pleased to see so many of our colleagues
from Contemporary History here with us this evening,’
Itagne continued, throwing the first punch.
‘Since we’re going To be discussing
something near and dear to their hearts, it’s much better
that they’re present to hear what I say with their own ears rather
than being forced to rely on garbled second-hand accounts.’ He
smiled benignly down at the scowling hacks in the front row.
‘Can you hear me, gentlemen?’ he asked. ‘Am I going too fast
for any of you?’
‘This is outrageous!’ a portly, sweating professor protested
loudly.
‘it’s going to get worse, Quinsal,’ Itagne told him. ‘if the truth
bothers you, you’d better leave now.’ He looked out over the
assemblage. ‘it’s been said that the quest for truth is the noblest
occupation of man, but there be dragons lurking in the dark
forests of ignorance. And the names of these dragons are
“incompetence” and “Political Bias” and “Deliberate Distortion”
and “Sheer, Wrongheaded Stupidity”. Our gallant friends here
in Contemporary History bravely sallied forth to do battle with
these dragons in their recently published “Cyrga Affair”. It is
with the deepest regret that I must inform you that the dragons
won.’
There was more laughter, and dark scowls from the front row.
‘it’s never’ been any secret at this institution that the Contemporary
History Department is a political entity rather than an
academic one,’ Itagne continued. ‘it has been sponsored from
its very inception by the Prime Minister, and its only reasons
for existence have been to gloss over his blunders and to conceal
as best they might his absolute incompetence. To be sure, Prime
Minister Subat and his accomplice, Interior Minister Kolata, have
never been interested in the truth, but please, gentlemen, this is
a university. Shouldn’t we at least pretend to be telling the truth?’
‘Rubbish!’ a burly academic in the front row bellowed.
‘Yes,’ Itagne replied, holding up a yellow-bound copy of ‘The
Cyrga Affair’, ‘I noticed that myself. But if you knew it was
rubbish, Professor Pessalt, why did you publish it?’
The laughter in the hall was even louder this time, and it
drowned out Pessalt’s spluttered attempt to answer.
‘Let us push on with this great work that we are in,’ Itagne
suggested. ‘We all know Pondia Subat for the scheming incompetent
he really is, but the only thing that most baffles me about
your “Cyrga Affair” is its consistent attempt to elevate the Styric
renegade Zalasta to near sainthood. How in the name of God
could anyone – even someone as severely limited as the Prime
Minister – revere this scoundrel?’
‘How dare you speak so of the greatest man of this century?’
one of the hacks screamed at him.
‘if Zalasta’s the best this century can manage, colleague, I
think we’re in deep trouble. But we digress. The crisis which
Contemporary History chooses to call “The Cyrga Affair” has
been brewing for several years.’
‘Yes,’ someone shouted with heavy sarcasm, ‘we noticed that!’
‘i’m so happy for you,’ Itagne murmured, drawing another
loud laugh from the audience. ‘To whom did our idiot Prime
Minister turn for aid? To Zalasta, of course. And what was
Zalasta’s answer to the crisis? He urged us to send for the
Pandion Knight, Prince Sparhawk of Elenia. Why would the
name of an Elene nobleman leap to Zalasta’s lips in answer to
the question – almost before it was asked – particularly in view
of the sorry record of the Elenes in their relations with the Styrics?
To be sure, Prince Sparhawk’s exploits are legendary, but
what was it about the man that made Zalasta pine so for his
company? And why was it that Zalasta neglected to tell us that
Sparhawk is Anakha, the instrument of the Bhelliom? Did the
fact somehow slip his mind? Did he think that the spirit which
creates whole universes was somehow irrelevant? I find no mention
at all about Bhelliom in this recently published heap of
bird-droppings. Did you omit the most momentous event of the
past eon deliberately? Were you so caught up in trying to give
your adored Pondia Subat credit for policy decisions he had no
part in that you decided not to mention Bhelliom at all?’
‘Balderdash!’ a deep voice roared.
‘i’m pleased to meet you, Professor Balderdash. My name’s
Itagne. It was good of you to introduce yourself. Thanks awfully,
old boy.’
The laughter was tumultuous this time.