Alanna The First Adventure

chapter seven

The Black City

The ride south was the longest and most demanding Alanna had experienced. They were just a day away from Corus when the countryside changed. The hills were rockier. The trees were shrunken and twisted, and the ground plants seemed to fight for each drop of water they took from the earth. The ground itself was brown and dry, torn with cracks. Lizards, snakes and an occasional rabbit looked at the riders as if they were invaders, and the sun felt ten times hotter. By the end of the second day’s ride, the cracked earth had turned to sand, and the hills into long dunes. They had reached the Great Southern Desert.

At night Alanna waited on Lord Martin, Myles and the guard captain. She spent several hours of the day riding at Myles’s side, learning about the lives and customs of the people of this land. Myles was an interesting teacher, and he knew much about the Southern Desert. Often she caught Lord Martin glancing at the knight with respect in his hard eyes.

Alanna was not the only one taking lessons. Lord Martin lectured them all on survival in such barren land. Someday their lives might depend on knowing which plants stored water inside or how to find an oasis.

The closer they came to Persopolis, the more Bazhir they encountered. The desert people were hard riders and relentless fighters. They hid their women in goatskin tents. But all, men and women, she sensed, watched the strangers through proud black eyes. Since she had already guessed Lord Martin didn’t like his Bazhir subjects, Alanna went to Sir Myles.

“The Bazhir are unusual,” the knight admitted. “Martin does have reason to resent them.”

“I think he resents everybody,” Alanna muttered.

Myles ignored that. “You see, the Old King is said to have conquered all this country as far south as the Inland Sea. Actually, what he conquered was the hill country, to the east, and the coastline from Port Legann to the Tyran River. He never actually conquered this desert—it’s far too big. Instead he worked out treaties with some Bazhir and slaughtered a few others. Now some tribes call Roald their king. They trade with the rest of the kingdom and try not to cause any trouble. The others are called renegade. They won’t accept Roald as king, and they make life difficult for those who use the Southern Road. The tribe that holds Persopolis is friendly with the King, and that’s very important.

Persopolis is the only city built by the Bazhir.”

Alanna thought about this for a moment. “Why only one city?” she asked. “And why Persopolis, out in the middle of nowhere?”

“There are five springs in Persopolis,” Lord Martin said harshly, bringing his horse up beside them. “As to why only one city—it’s said they built it to guard the Black City.” He snorted. “Foolishness, if you ask me. Why build a city to guard another that you can scarcely see?” He rode on back down the line.

Alanna squinted at Geoffrey’s father. “I don’t get it,” she said. “He doesn’t like the Bazhir—but His Majesty made him overlord of the Desert.”

“Martin doesn’t like the Bazhir—and they don’t like him—but he is fair,” Myles replied. “He’s fair if it kills him. The Bazhir know that, so they’ll deal with him. No one else could have gotten their respect, even if it is grudging.” Myles pushed back the hood of the burnoose he had worn since the second day out, looking intently at her. “Why so interested, Alan?”

She shrugged. “No reason—I think. Excuse me. Lord Martin’s waving.” She wheeled Moonlight and trotted back down the line. She didn’t know herself why she was so interested in the desert men.

It took a week to reach Persopolis. At last they could see its granite towers and walls rising before them. The city was built even stronger than fortresses like Trebond, and the weapons carried by its soldiers were well cared for and much used.

People lined the streets to greet their returning lord and to stare at the youth who would one day be their king. While the Bazhir kept to the back of the crowds, watching in silence, the city dwellers waved and called to the young nobles. Jonathan and his friends returned the greetings, as relaxed as if they did this every day, but Alanna guided Moonlight to a spot between Myles and the guard captain and stayed there.

“What’s the matter, youngling?” the soldier chuckled. “Shy?”

Alanna blushed. He was right. But there was something else. “Myles?” she asked softly. “Do the Bazhir always stare so?”

The knight tugged his beard thoughtfully. “Actually, they try to ignore us northerners. Perhaps it’s Jonathan.”

“Urn.” Alanna’s nervous grip on the reins made her horse fidget. She tried to relax. The Bazhir were staring at her, too.

A formal banquet began in the castle late in the afternoon. Everyone wore their finest. There were toasts and long-winded speeches. Myles downed glass after glass of wine, and Alanna hid in a corner unless summoned.

“There you are.” Myles was only a little unsteady on his feet. “Are you jealous because Jonathan’s the center of attention? He’s the prince, lad. He’ll be the center of attention for a long time.” He drew a dark, well-dressed man forward. “Here’s someone who can tell you more about the Bazhir. Ali Mukhtab, this is Alan of Trebond, our page. Ali Mukhtab is the governor of Persopolis Castle. He is also Bazhir. You two talk—I’m off to a real bed at last.” Myles tousled Alanna’s hair affectionately and left her alone with Ali Mukhtab.

The page and the man sized each other up carefully. Alanna saw a tall Bazhir with walnut brown skin, glossy black hair and a trimmed black mustache. His large dark eyes were framed with long black lashes, and Alanna was to learn he rarely opened them wide. He did so now, and she shifted uncomfortably. There was power in Mukhtab’s gaze. He half closed his eyes once more, smiling sleepily.

“You are not comfortable in this setting,” he remarked quietly.

Alanna was never fond of personal remarks. She changed the subject. “I like your vest,” she announced. The vest was an elegant garment, red velvet trimmed with gold. He smiled, and she knew he had seen through her tactic.

“Sir Myles tells me you are curious about the Bazhir. Why? Surely a young man from a northern fief can have little interest in the desert.”

“A person can never tell where he’ll end up,” she said bluntly. “I understand northerners. I don’t understand the Bazhir.”

“So. A cat’s curiosity, as well as a cat’s love of privacy. Is it permitted to ask why only one page travels in your group?”

Alanna decided she liked this odd man. “His Highness asked if I could come, specially. We’re friends—he and I and Gary and Raoul—the two big squires. And Alex—”

“The dark, secretive one,” Ali Mukhtab interrupted. “He, too, is like a cat—but not one I would like to know. I am very fond of cats. At least three live in my chambers.”

“Alex isn’t secretive, precisely,” Alanna demurred. “He’s just—he’s always been that way. Can you answer something for me? I know it’s a little rude, but I’ve got to ask.”

The Bazhir smiled and accepted two glasses filled with green liquor being passed by a footman. He gave one to Alanna. “Drink,” he told her. “You’ll like it. By all means, ask me your ‘little rude’ question.”

Alanna sipped the green stuff carefully. It tasted wonderful. “I—uh—I couldn’t help but notice that Lord Martin—uh—doesn’t much like the Bazhir. I mean, he’s supposed to be fair and all—”

Ali Mukhtab grinned outright. “You are right. He is painfully correct with us, and he cannot stand the sight of us. Go on.”

“If that’s so, why are you a—a Bazhir—the governor of his castle?”

Mukhtab turned his glass in his fingers. “Your friend Myles said you were intelligent. He did not say you were blunt.”

Alanna blushed. “Myles said that about me?” Her blush deepened. “I never said I was tactful,” she added.

“The post of governor in the castle of Persopolis goes by right to a Bazhir,” Ali Mukhtab explained. “Lord Martin cannot change that, although I know he has tried to. It is in the treaty with the Old King. I think our people would rise up if the king in the north tried to change the custom.”

“Over one castle position?” Alanna asked. “That seems a little—well, extreme.”

“There is a very good reason for that tradition,” the Bazhir explained. He looked out the window at the dimming sky. “In fact, if you and your friends can leave discreetly, I will show you all something interesting.”

Within a few minutes Alanna and her friends had assembled in a back hallway. Jonathan was the last to arrive; he had more difficulty sneaking away.

“If I hear one more noble tell me he’d like to see a green city once again before he dies—” the Prince muttered, his patience obviously worn thin. “What’s up?”

Alanna performed hasty introductions, and the young men followed the governor down the hallway.

“I must admit to surprise,” Ali Mukhtab was saying to Jonathan. “I did not think Alan’s message would lure you away from those who were so anxious to have you like them.”

“You took the sword by the point,” Jonathan replied, tweaking Alanna’s nose. “If I were anyone else, they wouldn’t have two words to say to me. But I’m the prince, and I think every man in that room wanted something from me—except Lord Martin,” he added, nodding to Geoffrey. “I didn’t come here to have people treating me as if I’m made of gold.”

They stopped before a wooden door. Mukhtab produced a brass key that matched the lock and handle. “This is the Sunset Room,” he told them, unlocking the door. “Only the governor of the castle holds the key.”

The five boys looked at each other. This was the room Duke Roger had mentioned, the room built to watch the Black City. Its design was totally different from that of any other room in the castle. The stone floors and walls had been coated with small, brightly colored tiles, which formed pictures. Many were of the Black City and of the Bazhir. Alanna peered closely at the walls, touching them with gentle fingers.

“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 behavior.

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 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 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 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.

Jonathan headed east, to a small oasis they knew was nearer the Black City than Persopolis. Alanna wasn’t about to argue that they were going the wrong way. The oasis was closer than home, and all she wanted to do was lie down.

The horses contentedly cropped grass while their owners bathed their aching faces and hands in the cool water. Jonathan finally leaned back against a palm tree. “I wish I’d thought to bring food.”

Alanna lay flat on the grass nearby. “I’m happy just to be alive.”

They rested in silence for a while, breathing the fresh desert air deeply. They watched the sun set in pools of rose and orange, thinking they had never seen a lovelier sunset. Darkness came, and thousands of stars.

“Moonrise soon,” Alanna said at last. “We could try for Persopolis then.”

“We’d never make it.” Jonathan’s quiet voice came from the shadows. “We’re in trouble as it is. Spending the night won’t make it any worse.”

There was a long silence once again. Finally Alanna said, “I suppose you’d like an explanation.”

“Yes.”

She sighed. “It’s a long story.”

“We have time,” he said comfortably. “I don’t intend to move till I hear it. You must admit, I’ve had a shock.”

“I’m sorry,” she said humbly. “I haven’t wanted to lie to you.”

“I should hope so. You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.” He thought about this a moment, then added, “—or the best. Now I’m all confused. What about your twin?”

“He didn’t want to be a knight,” she replied simply. “He wants to be a great sorcerer.” She sighed. “Today was more Thom’s sort of thing than mine. Father was going to send me to the convent and Thom to the palace. And I didn’t want to learn to be a lady.” Jonathan’s chuckle gave her courage. “Old Maude knew. She said it was right. And—well, I talked Coram around.”

Jonathan knew Coram well. “How?” he asked curiously.

“I threatened to make him see things that were not there. He doesn’t like that.”

Jon chuckled again, imagining Coram seeing visions. “And your father?”

“He doesn’t care about Thom or me,” she said flatly. “I want to be a warrior maiden and do great deeds. Thom likes sorcery, and Father hates it. The only way we could get what we wanted—was to lie. I had to pretend to be a boy. I was always better at the fighting arts than Thom anyway.”

“Whose idea was it to make the switch?”

“Mine,” she admitted ruefully. “Thom might have thought of it, but he’s the careful one. I knew what I wanted, and I didn’t mind taking a risk or two.” She sighed. “I enjoyed the life.”

“You could’ve been caught at any time. You could’ve been a weakling; Roger could’ve found out.”

“There’ve been warrior maids before. They weren’t weak. And—well, I think my Gift protects me from Duke Roger. I’m not sure, but I think so. And you can’t say I haven’t proved myself.”

“Of course you have, often. You do better than most of us.”

She picked at the grass. “I had to.”

“Alanna. It’s a pretty name,” he said thoughtfully. “Thom. Maude. Coram. Who else knows?”

“George, and his mother.”

“You trusted George?”

“He can be trusted!” she said hotly. “Besides—I needed help once, and I knew he’d never give me away. He’s my friend, Jon.”

“You called me ‘Jon.’”

“You saved my life, back there.”

“You saved mine. We wouldn’t have made it without each other. I knew I was right to take you.”

She lay silent for a while, listening to the sounds in the night. At last she gathered her courage. “What’re you going to do about me?”

His voice was surprised. “Do? I’m not doing anything. As far as I’m concerned, you earned the right to try for your shield a long time ago.” She heard him moving. “No one will learn your secret from me, Alanna.”

Her chin trembled. Tears stung her eyes. “Thank you, your Highness.”

He knelt beside her. “I thought you were calling me Jon. Alanna, you’re crying.”

“It’s been such an awful day,” she sobbed. Hesitantly the young man put his arms around her and drew her against him. “And now you’re being so kind.” She wept into his shirt.

“Not kind,” he told her. “Grateful. Admiring. You’re getting my shirt wet.”

She laughed and straightened, wiping her eyes. “I’m sorry, Jon. I haven’t done that for a long time.”

“I believe it,” he said, sitting back on his heels. “I don’t think you cried even when Ralon was beating on you, and you were just a little boy—girl. Mithros, I’m confused!” he whistled. “Gods, that’s why you never went swimming! All the times you’ve seen us naked—me naked!”

She gripped his arm. “Jon, you start to act like that, and I’m finished. You’ve got to go on treating me like any other boy, or I’m through!”

He sat beside her. “What insanity! But you’re right.” She could feel his eyes on her face although it was too dark to see him clearly. “How do you plan to be a warrior maiden if no one knows you’re a girl?”

“I’m going to tell everyone, on my eighteenth birthday.”

“What will you do after that?” She could see him grin. “Mithros, Uncle will have fits.”

She relaxed. “I’m going to travel and do great deeds.”

He ruffled her hair. “I believe you. Don’t forget your friends when you’re a legend.”

She laughed. “You’ll be more famous than me! You’ll be king one day!”

“And I’ll need all my friends. Will you still serve me when you’re doing great deeds?”

“I’m your vassal,” she said seriously. “I’ll never forget that.”

“Excellent.” He rose with a slight moan. “I want to keep one of the best fencers at Court on my side. I’m going to bathe. Don’t watch.”

She grinned. “I never watch.” She turned her back as he walked down to the water. Dreamily she stared at the sky, listening to Jon yelp as he splashed chilly water over his aching body.

His voice startled her when he spoke. “You’re only that quiet when you’re worrying about something. What’s bothering you now?”

“Two things,” she admitted. “The Ysandir—we have no way of knowing they’re gone for good or that we got all of them.”

“I know that we did,” Jonathan replied. “Sometimes a man has to rely on his instincts. The Ysandir are gone forever.”

“Doesn’t it seem—well, strange—that a boy and a girl were able to destroy the Bazhir demons?”

“You’re forgetting,” he reminded her gently, “we had help. Even the Bazhir demons couldn’t stand against the gods.”

“I suppose so,” she said dubiously.

“I know so.” Jonathan climbed from the pool and hurried into his clothes. “Your turn. And keep talking—it’ll frighten any animals away.”

“Don’t you watch,” she warned as she stripped and plunged into the chilly water.

Jonathan chuckled. “Not me. You’re too skinny—and too good with a sword. You said two things were bothering you. What’s the other one?”

Alanna shook soggy hair from her eyes, trying to decide how she could best say what she was thinking. She was about to tread on very dangerous ground. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd—the way Duke Roger warned us to stay away from the Black City?” She climbed out of the oasis and pulled on the over-large tunic once more.

“You mean the way he practically dared us—well, me—to come here.”

Alanna sat beside him, trying to see her friend’s face in the desert night. “You knew?” she whispered, horrified. “You knew Duke Roger was sending you to almost certain death?”

His grip on her arm was painful. “Now that I do not believe,” he said sternly. “Roger is my only cousin and one of my best friends. He taught me to ride! He would never—never—do the thing you’re suggesting, Alanna. Never. He sent me here because he thought I might have a chance to rid Tortall of a scourge, and I did, with your help. He must have known I’d take you with me; I’m sure by now he has the whole story of what happened the night I had the Sweating Fever. He did Tortall a favor, and he did me a favor. People will think twice before they take on a prince—or a king—who can defeat demons.”

“Why didn’t he do it himself?” she asked. “Why risk the only heir to the throne?”

“Perhaps he doesn’t have the—the other powers helping him, as they seem to be helping us. And that’s enough for this discussion. I would trust Roger with my life, and with yours. If he had ever wanted the throne, he could have had it any time all these years past. So let’s change the subject, all right?”

There are too many perhapses in all that, Alanna thought rebelliously, but she did as she was told. After all, Jon was older, wiser and far better acquainted with Duke Roger. But she still thought the Duke of Conté never expected them to return from the Black City.

They both found comfortable spots beneath the same tree, stretching out for a night’s sleep. Alanna was gazing at the distant outline of the Black City when Jon said, “Alan. Alanna. Perhaps you’ll help me with a decision I have to make.”

Relief made her smile. At least he wasn’t angry because she had said what she had about his cousin. “I can try.”

“What with Gary and Alex and Raoul becoming knights at the same time I do, it makes competition for the squires pretty fierce.”

“So I’ve noticed,” she said dryly.

He chuckled. “Who do you think I should pick?”

Alanna sat up on her elbow. A week ago she would have told him to pick Geoffrey or Douglass. But she had not been to the Black City then. She had not proved to the Ysandir that a girl could be one of the worst enemies they would ever face.

But what if she had not gone to the Black City? Duke Gareth had mentioned that, with a deal more practice, she could become one of the finest swordsmen at Court. In archery she hit the target every time. The masters who taught her tactics and logic said she was sometimes brilliant—Myles said she was far more intelligent than many adults. She had bested Ralon of Malven, and in some strange way she had won her sword.

All at once she felt different inside her own skin.

“Me,” she said at last. “You should pick me.”

“But you’re a girl.” It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

“So?” she demanded. “Even Captain Sklaw says I’ll be a swordsman yet. I’m as good an archer as Alex, and he’s a boy and a squire. I’m a better tracker than Raoul. And have I ever failed you? Back there, or when you had the Fever—”

“I’m glad you agree with my reasons,” he interrupted calmly. “I told Father you’d probably accept.”

Alanna swallowed hard.

“Before we left, I told him I wanted you for my squire. He didn’t seem very surprised.” Jonathan wriggled, trying to find a softer spot on the ground.

“B-but,” Alanna stuttered, “isn’t it different? Now that you know—”

“That you’re a girl? No, not in the way you mean. Girl, boy or dancing bear, you’re the finest page—the finest squire-to-be—at Court.” He chuckled. “I almost had to fight Gary for you. He said it wasn’t fair, me getting the best because I’m the prince.” He took her hand. “Alanna of Trebond—I will be honored if you will serve as my squire.”

Alanna kissed his hand, blinking back tears. “My life and sword are yours, Highness.”

He spoiled the dignity of the moment by ruffling her hair. “Now, get some sleep.” He settled back and closed his eyes. “You know,” he murmured, “I’d almost rather face old Ylon again than Lord Martin in a temper.”

“I’ll blame it all on you,” she replied sleepily. “See if I don’t.”

He dozed off quickly. Alanna lay awake a little while longer, watching the dark towers of the Black City in the distance. If there were any more Ysandir about, she was too tired to care. She wished she had Jon’s faith in Duke Roger, but knew she wasn’t going to get it. Still, she could figure out the Duke of Conté later. As Jon said, there was morning and Lord Martin to face, and it was time at last to sleep.