"It's very old," she said finally.
"Even we do not know how old it is," Ali Mukhtab replied. The door opened once again. Servants appeared with pillows and refreshments. The boys wandered over to the wall that looked out to the west. There was no window to block out the desert air. Only the posts supporting the ceiling separated the Sunset Room from the view.
The room was set high in the Persopolis wall. Before them stretched the Great Southern Desert, as far as their eyes could see. It was a magnificent sight, painted red-gold by the setting sun. The view's only flaw was that it faced the west, and the dying light shone directly into their eyes.
Suddenly Jonathan pointed. "That small black speck—just where the sun is. That's the Black City?"
Ali Mukhtab nodded. "That is the Black City, the doom of my people for centuries. Ever since we can remember—and our memories reach beyond the days when your palace, Highness, was a palace for the Old Ones—our young people have been called to the Black City. Our masters lived there, the Nameless Ones. They stole our souls and gave us farms and cattle. We swore never to farm again. Legends say we stopped there when we came north, over the Inland Sea. The Nameless Ones welcomed us and asked us to share their land and farm their crops. All this, the legends say, was green and fertile." Ali's hand swept over the leagues of empty sand. "When we saw that they were stealing our spirits, we rebelled. We burned them and their city, and all the land turned to dust. After we left, never to return, we built Persopolis, so that we might watch the City, always."
"How could you burn them out, if they were so powerful?" Gary wanted to know.
"They feared fire above all things," the man replied. "Their spirits linger in the City, but they cannot pass the circle of fire we placed around their walls."
"You said they call your young people," Alex said. "What do you mean?"
The man sighed. "Sometimes a youth or a maiden will awaken in the night and try to ride to the City. If they are stopped, they rave and scream and refuse their food, talking only of the City and of the gods who wish them to come there. If we do not let them go, they starve themselves to death."
"And if they go, they don't come back," Jonathan said quietly.
"Isn't it better to let them go?" Raoul asked. "Maybe it isn't the City at all. Your life is—well, it's harsh. Maybe they really go on to other cities, to live somewhere else."
"We would like to think so," the governor of the castle replied. "But we have trained our young to be honest." His eyes were on Alanna as he said this, and she squirmed. "Those who leave us for the cities go with their families' blessings—or curses—but they always tell us that is where they go. Those who want the Black City speak only of it, as if they could not lie about it if they tried."
"It seems cruel to me to tie them up and keep them." Raoul yawned, settling onto a pillow and pouring himself a glass of wine.
"To the Bazhir, even death by starvation is better than the fate we think awaits them there," Ali Mukhtab said. "We have another legend—the Bazhir have many legends—that says one day we will be free of the call of the City. It says two gods, the Night One and the Burning-Brightly One, will go into the City to battle with the immortals there. I do not know how true that may be." The Bazhir smiled. "Some, like Lord Martin, say we have many legends because we possess little else. He is probably right."
"Your people seem to be old and wise," Jonathan said. He was standing by the window, watching the last pool of sun disappear into the desert. "It's too bad no one has written a history of the Bazhir."
Ali Mukhtab looked at him. His eyes opened wide, fixing Jonathan with his strangely intent gaze. "Are you interested in such things, Highness?"
Jonathan returned that powerful look evenly. "I have to be," he said. "The Bazhir will be my people, too, someday."
Mukhtab bowed low. "I will see if such a history can be found—or written."
"I look forward to reading it," the Prince replied. He followed his friends out into the hall.
"What a story," Raoul grinned. "Ghouls and ghosts—I wonder what the truth was?"
"The mosaics on the walls hinted that the truth was pretty frightening," Alex told him.
"The mosaics were done by the Bazhir," Gary pointed out. "Come on. It's bedtime and past." They made their way to their rooms, not noticing that Alan and Jon lingered behind.
"I wonder who they really were," Alanna mused. "The Nameless Ones."
Jon's voice was casual. "An old enemy, made bigger to scare the young ones, I guess. It's a sensible idea. There are probably a lot of places in those ruins where a child could get lost. Good night, Alan."
She glanced sharply at him. First he was very interested in the Bazhir, and now he was saying their legends were stories to scare children. That wasn't like Jonathan. The carefully innocent look on his face wasn't like Jonathan, either.
"Good night," she murmured, turning into her chamber. No one was waiting up for her, Coram being back at the palace. If anyone had thought Alan might get into more trouble than usual without his eagle-eyed servant to watch him, no one had mentioned it.
Alanna blew out the lamp and undressed in the dark, still wondering about Jonathan's turnabout behaviour.
SHE wakened suddenly, before dawn. Every nerve in her body quivered, as if she were about to take a test in the practice yards. She dressed swiftly, binding herself tight and pulling a loose blue shirt over her head. She tucked the shirt into her breeches, then struggled to get her riding boots over her stockinged feet. Hands trembling, she buckled Lightning and her dagger at her side. She didn't know why she was in such a hurry, and she didn't stop to think about it, either. At last she was ready and slid out into the hall.
A light burned in Jonathan's room. Suddenly it went out. His door opened. Alanna, tucked into a dark niche, watched as the Prince slipped into the hall, fully dressed.
"You must be crazy," she hissed as he closed his door.
His eyes searched until he found her in the shadows. His teeth flashed in a grin. "Are you coming? I'm going, with you or without you."
She followed, her well-used boots padding like cat feet on the floor. No one was awake down at the stables. Quickly they saddled their horses. A gold coin bought the cooperation of the large Bazhir stationed at the city gate. Together they rode swiftly into the west.
THERE was no sand in the Black City, no dust—nothing to show that centuries had passed since people lived there. The streets were hard, black and bare, shining in the sun. The alien buildings—beautifully and carefully carved—rose without break from the rock of the streets. If any tower was not part of the mass of rock beneath their feet, they did not find it. The city rose like a cluster of needles stabbing into the sky.
"It's very nice," Alanna said with approval when they were just inside the gate. "Now let's go back." She remembered suddenly the vision she had seen of a black city, not once but twice. Was she meant to be here? Well, if she was, she was scared.
"You can go," her friend replied, running a hand over a carving. "I'm looking around some more."
Alanna shrugged and followed, her hand on Lightning's hilt. Maybe this was what she had to do. They explored silently, peering into echoing buildings while the noon sun beat down on their heads. The great towers were bare of everything—furniture, cloth, glass—except the carving that covered the entire city.
Alanna examined these carvings with care. They showed strange animals and stranger people: men with the heads of lions, women with bird's wings, great cats with human faces. Alanna had never seen anything like it. Now that she had, she wished she hadn't.
"I don't see bodies or skeletons," Jonathan whispered. "Those young Bazhir probably just took off for the cities."
"Then why are you whispering?" Her voice was equally soft.
The Prince looked around, searching the windows and doorways. "I'm not sure—Yes, I am. This place is evil. Whatever has or hasn't happened here, the city is still evil, through and through."
"I'
m glad we left the horses outside," was her only answer. As they ventured deeper and deeper into the city, she kept close watch on the doors and windows around them.
They turned a sharp corner, and the city's central square lay before them. It was a wide, flat reach of stone, carefully polished and yet reflecting no light from its surface. Alanna decided it was like staring into a huge pit covered with glass. It took all her nerve to step onto it, but step she did. The building in the center of the square called to her. Its sides were columns of plain black stone. The roof separated itself from the columns with a border of carving covered with gold. Topping a long rise of stairs, great doors beckoned. She and Jonathan climbed up to the doors, feeling smaller and smaller as they climbed. The doors stood open and waiting. Like the stone of the city the black wood of the doors was covered with exotic pictures. The edges of the carvings were lined with gold.
When they reached the doors, Lightning began humming, its hilt trembling in Alanna's hand. "Jonathan—my sword—" she stammered.
"Hm?" The Prince was eying the doors.
"I don't think we should go in. My sword is—it's humming."
Jonathan shook his head. "I'm going to find out what's going on." He stepped inside the temple.
Alanna tightened her grip on her sword hilt and followed. "You know I can't let you come in here by yourself," she snapped as she caught up with him.
Jonathan grinned at her. "Of course. Why did you think I asked Uncle to let you come?"
"You planned this all along!" she accused.
"I hate mysteries. This place has been one for years. I knew you'd have the guts to come with me."
"But—Gary, Alex, Raoul," she protested. "They would've—"
"They would've grumbled all the way here and then knocked me over the head when I tried to enter the city. I knew you'd come and keep quiet."
"That's because I'm the only one with insanity in my family," she grumbled.
Jonathan laughed, and the sound was eaten up by the air inside the temple. They walked forward slowly, their hands on their sword hilts. There were no windows or torches, but a weird yellow-green light came from somewhere. The walls were carved from the glassy stone, catching the light and making it ripple along their surfaces. At the end of the chamber was a large block of dark stuff that swallowed the light without reflecting it.
"The altar," Jonathan whispered.
The light moved in a blinding wave across the room. When the eyes of the two humans cleared, ten men and women were standing in front of the altar. Even the smallest of the women was taller than Duke Gareth, and they were all so beautiful that it hurt to look at them for very long. Their power flashed and rippled around their bodies in a dance of green light.
"It has been so long," a woman in red said with a sigh. "And they are so small."
One woman stretched a hand out to them. Her fingernails were long and red, like claws. "Feel the life in them, Ylira. It is a flame. These two will be enough for us all."
Alanna edged closer to Jonathan's side. Lightning was trembling in her grip. "This was your idea," she muttered.
"Who are you?" Jonathan demanded of the strangers. His voice was clear and calm. He showed no sign of fear.
"They speak," a man-being sneered. "And look at the little one. It will hit us with its sword."
The beings—the Nameless Ones—laughed. Alanna shivered at the cruelty in the sound.
The largest of the men waved a careless hand. He was broad-shouldered and black-bearded, a giant even among these creatures. "Your mortal weapons will not hurt us," he boomed. "We are the Ysandir. We are immortal. Our flesh is not like yours."
"You cannot keep us here," Jonathan replied steadily.
"We are hungry." The clawed woman's eyes glinted. "We have not fed for one of your years. The goat-herders are too good at keeping their young from us."
A woman with hair whiter than snow purred, "He thinks his father the king will hunt for them and destroy us."
They laughed. Alanna wanted to put her hands over her ears and shut out that dreadful sound. But she forced herself to remain still, moving her feet so she would be totally balanced when the attack came.
The black-bearded one smiled. "I am Ylon, chief of the Ysandir. I have fed on hundreds of your mortal lives. Let your father bring his armies. We will feed on their souls, and we will be strong. We will break the curse of fire the Bazhir put on this place."
Jonathan took a deep breath. "I don't need my father's soldiers. I am going to leave here, and you are not going to keep me."
"Listen to the princeling!" mocked the red-clawed woman. "How you roar, young lion!"
"Don't you dare speak so to him!" Alanna cried. She drew Lightning in a swift movement. The crystal on the hilt blazed out, throwing a harsh light into the darkness around them. The Ysandir shrank back against the altar, trying to keep the light from their eyes.
"So. You come armed with their weapons," Ylon said. "But can you use them?"
"Ylanda," said Ylira, the woman in red. "I cannot see into this one's mind. It is hiding something. Where did you get the sword?" she snapped, staring at Alanna.
"None of your business!" Alanna replied, focussing on the red-gowned being. For a second she felt a touch in her mind, like claws raking through her head. She yelled. Lightning flashed, and the woman with claws—Ylanda—collapsed against the altar. She was gasping for breath.
"Don't give them an opening like that again," Jonathan warned. Already the air around him was shimmering with blue light. Alanna brought up her own shield of violet magic, keeping Lightning outside—just in case.
"I didn't plan to give them that one," she murmured.
Ylanda had gotten her breath back. Suddenly she was laughing. The others watched her. "In all my centuries," she gasped finally, "I have not known such a jest. Young lion—see your companion for what she really is!"
"She?" Jonathan whispered.
Before Alanna could bring Lightning's crystal up, power from Ylanda and Ylon smashed into her defenses, breaking through. She doubled over in pain. It was over as swiftly as it began, with one difference. Her clothes were gone. All she wore was her belt and scabbard.
The Ysandir were laughing with Ylanda. "A girl! His boy companion was a girl!"
The one called Ylira laughed scornfully as Alanna tried to cover herself with her hands. "A girl who hopes to protect her prince? A jest indeed!"
Alanna held up Lightning's crystal, letting its light burn into their eyes. The crystal dimmed, and she shouted, "I may be a girl, but I can defend—or attack!—as well as any boy!" She looked at Jonathan. Her friend was openly staring. "Highness," she whispered, blushing a deep red. "I—"
He pulled off his tunic and handed it to her. "Later. Just—who are you?"
She pulled the tunic on. Jon was so tall that his tunic covered her thighs—a small thing, but one she appreciated just now. "Alanna of Trebond, Highness."
Ylon's booming voice pulled their attention back to their enemies. "Separate them."
Instinctively Alanna gripped Jonathan's hand. Sapphire and amethyst power collected at their intertwined fingers.
"The Wall of Power," Jonathan hissed. "What's the spell?"
Alanna started the verses. Jon's voice joined hers, the words thundering in the great chamber. Slowly a wall of blue-violet light rose between them and the Ysandir. The immortals covered their eyes, unable to look at it for long. They retreated.
"You defy us?" Ylon cried. "Pay the price, mortals!"
Tearing pain shot through their joined hands. "Don't let them part us," Jon said. He held on so tightly Alanna's bones creaked. She ignored the pain, keeping her mind on the Wall. The Ysandir came closer, their bodies shining with yellow-green magic. Furious, they threw bolts of power at their prey. Jon and Alanna concentrated, bringing up all their willpower to keep their defenses strong. The Wall stood. Two immortals touched it and screamed. They vanished with a flash.
"So you can die," Alanna taunted. "
You can feel pain."
"How long do you think she will last?" Ylira asked Jonathan, softly. "Another few moments? Not even that? She is a girl. She is weak. She will give way, and where will you be?"
It was the same small voice that taunted Alanna from within whenever she faced a taller, stronger opponent.
"You think so?" she shouted furiously. "Then try this on for size!"
A slender thread of violet fire snaked through the wall, wrapping itself around Ylira's throat and tightening. The immortal did not even have the chance to scream before she fell to the ground and vanished.
Alanna didn't have time to gloat. Three women had joined hands to form a deadly-looking triangle. Power collected at the center of their formation in a small, evil ball.
"Jonathan?" Alanna whispered. This kind of magic was beyond her, but she knew Jonathan had spent more time studying books of sorcery than she had.
Jonathan spoke, using words she had never heard before. Alanna felt her own magic flowing into her friend's body. Slowly the Prince reached through the wall. Magic lanced from his fingertips, shattering the triangle. Alanna blinked, trying to clear her eyes of the blaze that had been the three Ysandir.
Five remained. The redheaded woman and the brunette with the hungry eyes screamed and threw themselves on the Wall. They blazed and vanished. The others drew back.
Alanna remembered something. "Jon—fire!" she hissed.
"Of course," he whispered.
Duke Roger had not taught them that spell, but Duke Gareth had. The pages had been camping in the royal forests. Before that night most of them had not known Duke Gareth possessed the Gift.
"It's the first spell any Naxen learns, if he has the Gift," the Duke explained. "Put that flint away, Alex—I'll show you."
Together now Alanna and Jonathan whispered the spell Duke Gareth taught them, changing some words to meet their need.
"Bright flame, light fire—Around Ysandir burn higher. Light the fire, bright the flame—Burn Ysandir in Mithros' name."
The Song Of The Lioness Quartet #1 - Alanna - The First Adventure Page 14