The Hidden City. David Eddings

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.

      ‘Fast on his feet, isn’t he?’ Itagne heard Ulath murmur to Bevier.

      Itagne looked up. ‘Colleagues,’ he said, ‘I submit that it was not Prince Sparhawk that Zalasta so yearned for, but the Bhelliom. Bhelliom is the source of ultimate power, and Zalasta has been trying to get his hands on it for three centuries – for reasons too disgusting to mention. He has been willing to go to any lengths. He has betrayed his faith, his people, and his personal integrity – such as it was – to gain what the Trolls call “The Flower-Gem”.’

      That tears it!’ the corpulent Quinsal declared, rising to his feet. ‘This man is mad! Now he’s talking about Trolls! This is an academic affair, Itagne, not the children’s hour. You’ve picked the wrong forum for fairytales and ghost stories.’

      ‘Why don’t you let me do this, Itagne?’ Ulath said, rising to his feet and coming to the podium. I can settle this question in just a moment or two.’

      ‘Feel free,’ Itagne said gratefully.

      Ulath set one huge hand on each side of the lectern. ‘Professor Itagne has requested me to brief you gentlemen on a few matters,’ he said. I take it that you’re having some difficulties with the notion of Trolls.’

      ‘None at all, Sir Knight,’ Quinsal retorted. ‘Trolls are an Elene myth and nothing else. There’s no difficulty in that at all.’

      ‘What an amazing thing. I spent five years compiling a Trollish grammar. Are you saying that I was wasting my time?’

      ‘I think you’re as mad as Itagne is.’

      ‘Then you probably shouldn’t irritate me, should you? Particularly in view of the fact that I’m so much bigger than you are.’ Ulath squinted at the ceiling. ‘Logic tells us that no one can prove a negative. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to amend your statement?’

      ‘No, Sir Ulath. I’ll stand by what I just said. There’s no such thing as a Troll.’

      ‘Did you hear that, Bhlokw?’ Ulath raised his voice slightly. This fellow says that you don’t exist.’

      There was a hideous roar in the corridor outside the auditorium, and the double doors at the rear splintered and crashed inward.

      ‘Stay calm!’ Bevier hissed as Itagne jumped. ‘It’s an illusion. Ulath’s amusing himself.’

      ‘Would you like to turn around and tell me what you see at the back of the hall, Quinsal?’ Ulath asked. ‘Exactly what would you call my friend Bhlokw there?’

      The creature hulking in the doorway was huge, and its bestial face was contorted with rage. It stretched its paws forth hungrily. ‘Who has said this, U-Lat?’ it demanded in a hideous voice. I will cause hurt to it! I will rip it to pieces and eat it!’

      ‘Can that Troll actually speak Tamul?’ Itagne whispered.

      ‘Of course not,’ Bevier smiled. ‘Ulath’s getting carried away.’

      The hideous apparition in the doorway continued to bellow horribly graphic descriptions of its plans for the faculty of the Contemporary History Department.

      ‘Were there any other questions about Trolls?’ Ulath asked mildly, but none of the assembled academics heard him over all the shouts, screams and the tipping over of chairs.

      It took the better part of a quarter of an hour to restore order once Ulath had dismissed his illusion, and when Itagne reapproached the lectern, the entire audience was huddled closely together near the front of the auditorium. ‘I’m touched by your eagerness to hear my every word, gentlemen,’ Itagne smiled, ‘but I can speak loudly enough to be heard at the back of the hall, so you needn’t draw so close. I trust that the visit of Sir Ulath’s friend has cleared up the little misunderstanding about Trolls?’ He looked at Quinsal, who was still cowering on the floor, gibbering in terror. ‘Splendid,’ Itagne said. ‘Briefly then, Prince Sparhawk came to Tamuli. Elenes are sometimes a devious people, so Sparhawk’s wife, Queen Ehlana, proposed a state visit to Matherion and concealed her husband and his friends in her entourage. Upon their arrival, they almost immediately uncovered some facts which we had somehow overlooked. First, Emperor Sarabian actually has a mind; and second, the government led by Pondia Subat was in league with our enemies.’

      ‘Treason!’ a thin, balding professor shrieked, leaping to his feet.

      ‘Really, Dalash?’ Itagne asked. ‘Against whom?’

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