"Near the temple." Cam pointed.
"Who would be inside the city at night?" asked Ronik.
"Nobody with any sense," Cam snorted.
Falon stroked his horse's neck. Its name was Carik, and his father had given it to him
before riding off on a raid from which he never returned. "It might have been best if we
hadn't bragged quite so loudly. Better first to have done the deed, stayed the night, and
then spoken up."
Cam delivered an elaborate shrug: "Why? You're not afraid, are you, Falon?"
Falon started forward again. "My father always believed this city to be Ziu's birthplace.
And that,"—he looked toward the temple, "—his altar."
Cam was, in some ways, a dangerous companion. He wanted very much to be esteemed
by his peers, as they all did. But he seemed sometimes extreme in the matter. Willing to
take chances. He wanted to be perceived as a warrior, but he had not yet proved himself.
He was looking for a chance. His hair was black, his eyes dark. The rumor was that he had
been fathered by a southerner.
Cam was middle-sized, and probably did not have the making of a good warrior. He
would serve, his comrades knew. He would not run. But neither would he ever achieve great
deeds.
The road had once been paved, but was little more than a track now, grassed over,
occasional stones jutting from the bed. Ahead, it angled around to the south gate.
"Maybe we should not do this," said Ronik. He was perhaps everything Cam would have
liked to be. He was tall and strong, and had, until this moment, always seemed utterly
fearless. The girls loved him, and Falon suspected he would one day be a war chief. But his
time was not yet.
Cam tried to laugh. It came out sounding strained.
Falon studied the ruins. It was hard to imagine there had ever been laughter within
those walls, or the birth of children. Or cavalry gathering. The place felt somehow as though
it had always been like this. He patted his horse's neck. "I wonder if the city was indeed
built by gods?"
"If you are afraid," said Cam, "return home. Ronik and I will think no less of you." He
made no effort to keep the mockery out of his voice.
Falon restrained his anger. "I fear no man. But it is impious to tread the highway of the
gods."
They were advancing slowly. Cam did not answer but he showed no inclination to
assume his customary position in the lead. "What use would Ziu have for fortifications?"
This was not the only ruined city known to the Kortagenians: Kosh-on-the-Ridge; and
Eskulis near Deep Forest; Kalikat and Agonda, the twin ports at the Sound; and three more
along the southern coast. They were called after the lands in which they were found. No
one knew what their builders had called them. But there were tales about this one, which
was always referred to simply as "the City."
"If not a way station for the gods," said Ronik, "maybe it serves devils."
There were stories: passersby attacked by phantoms, dragged within the walls, and
seen no more. Black wings lifting on dark winds and children vanishing from nearby
encampments. Demonic lights, it was said, sometimes reflected off low clouds, and wild
cries echoing in the night. Makanda, most pious of the Kortagenians, refused to ride within
sight of the City after dark, and would have been thunderstruck to see where they were
now.
They walked their horses forward, speaking in whispers. Past occasional mounds. Past
stands of oak. A cloud passed over the moon. And they came at last to the gate.
The wall had collapsed completely at this point, and the entrance was enmeshed in a
thick patch of forest. Trees and thickets crowded in, disrupting the road and blocking entry.
They paused under a clutch of pines. Cam advanced, drew his sword, and hacked at
branches and brush.
"It does not want us," said Ronik.
Falon stayed back, well away from Cam's blade, which swung with purpose but not
caution. When the way was clear, Cam sheathed his weapon.