When they came close enough to see it well, they saw the wall was just the beginning of an immense, empty city of stone, perhaps as deep as it was long or high, for no end to it could be seen in any direction. It was a place of shadow. Clouds hung heavily upon it, veiling the upward reaches of it, draping the pinnacles of it like heavy canvas tented upon poles of unimaginable height. At the horizon a swollen sun forced itself through lowering grey to slant long, red twilight rays upon the stones. Fantastic shadow structures loomed behind each wall and rampart, shadow pits and more walls through which shadow doors opened upon nothing. Walls changed direction without reason; doors opened into rooms which perched upon floorless space; crevasses were crossed by slabs while tiny declivities were arched with mighty bridges of groined stone.
Above them were more arches, more groins, multiple pillars with stairs twisting about them and away from them to launch into dizzying heights and slide snakelike down other pillars, remote and unconnected to the first. There were horizons of buttresses and vaults, domes, minarets, crenellated towers stretching upward forever only to end at the height and limit of vision against some vaster wall which faded into the ceiling of cloud.
And throughout this place the wind cried, sobbed down streets and alleyways, screamed among the chimneys and towers and across the great, paved squares, entreated hysterically through distant arches, crying to itself in external complaint. It was a dead place, cold, a place in which damned souls might wander.
‘What is it?’ Thewson grated. ‘Who built it? And why?’
The green-clad man who led the troop of northerners, one named Obonor, shook his head. ‘No one knows when it was made, or how, or by what, or why. It was here in the time of the Akwithian Kings; it was thought to be untenanted then. But since the time of the Concealment, there has been at least one kind of creature living here, called the Tharnel worm. The Gahlians have taken them away by thousands, away to the south in iron wagons. Now few of them are left, and we can go through the stone city safely, if we are careful.’
‘Did you come through this city on your way to Seathe?’
‘Yes. This time we did. Other times we have gone far to the west, almost to the source of the Lazentien. This time, being in haste, we came through this place.’
‘Why were you in such haste?’ asked Lain-achor. ‘It would take much to bring me through here.’
Obonor smiled, evading the question. Thus far the green-clad ones had proven friendly, expert in trailcraft, and evasive when questioned. Why they had come in such haste only to return they did not say – would not say. They merely clucked to their horses and led the way east along the line of the city, not entering it, merely staring as did Thewson and Lain-achor at the endless wall. They rode, stopped to build a tiny fire of dried whin, boiled and drank their tea, dunked their bread, put out the fire and rode on until weariness dragged at their thighs to make them rest for the night. Far away to the west the bloated sun heaved itself out of cloud like some baleful beast of the air, glaring across the moors. The place of stones burned red in its light, the red of fire, of wine, of blood. Then it turned abruptly dark. One of the green men stood watch, hands loose on the hilt of his drawn sword.
In the dawn the fire left only a wraith of pale ashes moving on the chill air. They went east until the hills to the south became both steeper and closer to the city, while the city opened into long avenues running north and south. ‘Here,’ said Obonor. ‘This is a place to go through. We came this way.’
The troop turned as one and clattered into the city, hooves hammering harshly on stone, echoes pounding, a noise without relief. Within moments Thewson had to stuff his ears against the sound. He saw the others doing likewise with a grimace at him and at themselves. Obonor seemed to say something, his lips forming the words, ‘No other way…’ Thewson gritted his jaw and tried to ignore the thunder in his ears.
They did not stop until noon. Thewson asked then, ‘Why do we not wrap the horses’ feet? This is a horrid noise we make.’
Obonor moved away as though not to answer, then turned and said, ‘It is thought… the sound may keep certain creatures away.’
‘But you said there were none left here,’ argued Lain-achor.
‘I said there were few. One would be too many.’
Something did not ring true in this interchange. Thewson could detect no malice among the green men; they were respectful, even deferential. But something was not being said. He watched them as he ate a few mouthfuls, was aware of being watched in return. They eased saddles on the horses’ backs, mounted once more, and rode with a clatter down a narrow canyon of street, into an avenue, along a wall gaping with doors….
The hiss which came from a gaping throat of darkness at their side screamed above the noise of the hooves, above the sound of terrified screaming from the horses as they tried to break free. Thewson was suddenly alone as the northerners backed away from him, pulling the frantic horses back with iron arms, drawing Lain-achor with them even as he tried to thrust them away.
Thewson was unsurprised. He leapt from the panicking horse to bring solid pave beneath his feet, spear in hand, wondering only a little at their seeming lack of surprise. What came through the doorway could not have failed to surprise and terrify – unless those who now saw it had seen it before, hunted it perhaps, seen men killed by it certainly. The men from the north made no sounds of terror.
Thewson did not
