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 eyeing 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 goatherders 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, focusing 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 a
s 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 will power 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 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.”
“Ylon!” cried one of the two male Ysandir remaining. Fire roared up outside the Wall, reaching with eager fingers for the one who cried out. He screamed and disappeared, the fire vanishing with him.
Only two remained of the Ysandir: Ylon and Ylanda. Alanna gulped. These two had joined hands, and power gathered to them.
“Ak-hoft!” Ylon cried. The Wall vanished as if it had never been.
“The others were weak and greedy,” Ylon said with a sneer. “We are not.”
“We are the First,” Ylanda added. “We were here before all the others. We shall remain.”
“Who are you?” Jonathan asked, trying to catch his breath. Alanna wiped her sweat-beaded face on her sleeve. She was tired, so tired her bones ached.
“We are gods and the children of gods,” the woman said. “We were here before your Old Ones, and we laughed when their cities fell.”
Alanna felt a return of her old spirit. “A likely story,” she said with a sniff. “Gods don’t die. You do.”
“You think you know all, mortal. You know nothing. Even immortals die when they weaken. Ylanda and I are the strongest. You will not weaken us.”
“You give a lot of big talk,” Alanna retorted. “I believe in deeds, not words.”
Jonathan’s voice was even and strong. “Your time is past. You no longer belong here.”
Ylon and Ylanda raised their linked hands, chanting in a language that made the two humans shudder. Outside thunder crashed. The weird glow that lighted the temple vanished. The only light now came from their magics.
“Jonathan?” Alanna whispered.
He looked down at her. “We’re not beaten yet. Alanna—can you become what you were the night you saved me from the fever? When you brought me back from death?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, eyeing the Ysandir.
“You have to—and you must take me with you. Otherwise—”
Jonathan didn’t have to elaborate. The light of the immortals’ magic was getting stronger.
Alanna looked at their linked hands, shining with the blue-violet of their combined Gifts. Already she was falling out of herself into that light. She could feel Jonathan with her. Her eyes burned as their magic grew brighter and formed a globe around them.
“Goddess,” she whispered in her woman’s voice. “Great Mother—”
“Dark Lady,” a man added softly, “open the Way for us.” Did she really hear Jonathan the man? She wasn’t sure.
Needle-sharp bolts of magic were lancing into their interlocked hands. Pain shot through their physical shells. Ylon and Ylanda stood before them in a wheel of yellow-green power. Fire streamed from them and broke on the newly formed globe of magic that held the bodies of Jon and Alanna.
For the second time in her life Alanna heard that female voice, the one that made her scream with pain. This time she didn’t scream. She was too busy concentrating on keeping their globe of power in one piece.
The voice echoed in her mind. Place your trust in the sword—and fight.
Alanna had dropped Lightning during the earlier fight. Now the sword jumped into her free hand, the crystal blazing. She could feel it trembling as she gripped the hilt.
“Just don’t let go of me,” Jonathan cautioned.
“I won’t.” Holding Jonathan fast, she stepped forward. Lightning sang in her hand.
A black, two-edged blade appeared in Ylon’s free hand. Like Jonathan, Ylanda did not let go of her companion. She stayed close, keeping step behind him.
Ylon brought his sword down in a ferocious arc. Alanna blocked it swiftly, her arm muscles screaming as she stopped the down-sweeping blade. Lightning blazed and—miraculously—did not break. The dark sword drank in Lightning’s fire as Ylon backed away. His big chest was heaving, and there was sweat on his face. Alanna circled him, her eyes never leaving his sword. Jonathan squeezed her hand reassuringly.
She felt better now. This was what she had trained for. She turned all her attention to the swords, letting Jonathan control their sorcery. Ylon, suddenly wary of her, lanced at her in a series of rapid thrusts. Alanna stopped each of them, feeling her confidence grow each time she stopped the Ysandir. Immortal he might be—swordsman he was not.
Jonathan was speaking softly, uttering words she paid no attention to. The fire surrounding him and Alanna blazed, and the girl yelled with triumph. She swung Lightning up and around in a complex move that brought the swords together, hilt to hilt. Ylon’s sword shattered with the impact. Alanna slashed at the immortals’ linked hands. The globe of yellow-green light exploded, and the two Ysandir screamed with rage and fear. Jonathan uttered one word of command, throwing the last reserves of their Gift into the spell. Blue-violet light flooded over the immortals. They flared up like a giant torch as everything went black.
Alanna and Jonathan awoke on the floor of the chamber. The Ysandir had vanished. Only a scorch mark in the perfect floor remained of Ylon and Ylanda. Near Alanna was Lightning, the sword’s tip blackened.
“Are you all right?” Jonathan asked wearily. He pulled himself to his feet.
Alanna couldn’t swallow a tiny moan. Every muscle screamed with pain. “I’m smarting a little,” she admitted. “How about you?”
“‘Smarting’ is an understatement. Come on. I want to get away from here before we try to rest.” Jonathan stumbled over to her sword and picked it up. “It’s still warm,” he said with awe.
Alanna rose, somehow. She felt as if someone had pounded her with hammers. “Think there are any more of them?” She accepted her sword and sheathed it carefully.
The Prince shook his head. “I’d say we’ve seen the last of the Ysandir. Come. We’ll lean on each other.”
They made it somehow to the city walls, where Moonlight and Darkness waited patiently for them. Jonathan felt his saddle, then the saddle blanket. “They’re wet,” he said. “It’s been raining out here.”
Alanna pulled herself onto her mare’s back with her last bit of strength. She had no wish to comment.
Alanna Page 15
