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Eddings, David - Tamuli 3 - The Hidden City.txt
The Hidden City
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 straightforward
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.