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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—excep
t 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.
