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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 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.”
