The Dark Lord (74 page)

Thyatis stood as well, breathing deeply, forcing her tension out in a sharp
huh
. Bird-like Sheshet was tucked away in a prison cell beneath the governor's palace. She wondered if Nicholas would really put burning irons to the woman if they found nothing in the temple. She wondered how the librarian had known the truth.
The matron Penelope seemed sure there was an Eye here... shouldn't such a thing be a closely held secret? But then—the priests of Amon-Ra would know and they might tell another, and then another... who would care for old bronze and rusting gears?

"Doesn't matter," Thyatis said aloud, flexing a cramp from her calves. They complained, but she ignored the soreness. "We'll check and see." She smiled tightly at Nicholas, fist over the prince's amulet. "If there's nothing here, we'll know soon enough. If there is, we'll find the telecast one way or another and take it home. Everyone have enough to drink? Are the waterbags full?"

The legionaries with the camels whistled in acknowledgement and Vladimir rose up, shaking out his shoulders, long axe swinging in his right hand. Scaled armor rattled softly. The barbarian grew more lively and awake as the night deepened and the air cooled.

"Vlad, you lead." Thyatis said, flipping her cloak free of both arms. Betia had helped her squeeze into the mailed armor. The metal was almost hot from riding on the back of a camel all day. In the damper, chillier air of the oasis, the warmth felt good. "Nicholas, you're on the right. I'll take the left. Florus..."

One of the shapes in the darkness raised his head attentively. Nicholas had tried to commandeer an entire cohort from the city garrison for their expedition, but had only managed to wrinkle free a handful of men—four recruits fresh from the Italian provinces and a veteran centurion to watch out for them. Thyatis didn't mind—they had borne up well in the dash from the coast—and they were willing to take orders. She hid a smile. Better yet, they were too exhausted to ask questions.

"...you cover the camels and the gear. Betia will follow along behind. Remember, people get lost in the dark. If you get separated, meet us back at the pillar we passed by the edge of the oasis."

Everyone nodded, a motion more felt or sensed than seen. Thyatis tucked her braids behind both ears, then padded off through the palms. The long blade was back in its sheath, but her hand was poised to draw at an instant's notice.

The night remained entirely still, without so much as the squeaking passage of bats to break the silence. Thyatis began to get a queer feeling between her shoulder blades.
This just isn't right...
Even in the desolation out beyond the ridge, the desert came alive after sunset, filled with scurrying lizards or scorpions, the hushed passage of hunting owls, sand moving in the night wind. The night under these close, humid palms felt watchful and oppressive.

A narrow road climbed the temple hill, rising up from a crowded little mud-brick town filled with twisting streets. Stumpy obelisks and eroded sphinxes lined the outer edge of the avenue. The rusty moon had begun a slow descent towards the western horizon. Nicholas darted from turn to turn, rushing forward in sharp bursts. Thyatis followed, keeping her sandals soft on the irregular slabs of fitted sandstone.

A dozen yards behind, the others crept forward, hugging the inner wall where deeper shadows covered them with a black cloak. Below, the town was abandoned and silent. No dogs barked, no lantern or candle flared in a window.

At the top of the hill, the road passed through a squat gate of brick. Thyatis stepped around the corner, through a pale section of moonlight and into deeper shadow. Nicholas was already crouching across the road, his outline obscured against the crude shape of a lion in bas-relief. She exhaled slowly, testing the air, and saw fog condense from her breath. The night had grown steadily colder.

Pillars rose up against the starry sky, huge and round, tapering towards the heavens. If they had ever supported a roof, the vault had collapsed long ago. Thyatis snapped her fingers softly—Nicholas' head turned sharply towards her—she pointed off along the main path through the colonnade. "Lead," she whispered.

Nicholas glided away into darkness. Thyatis stepped back to the edge of the gate, feeling her flesh crawl with uneasiness.
Too quiet... what's going on?
There had been no sign of pursuit on the trail.
Has this place been abandoned?

She flashed her hand in the pale slat of moonlight, beckoning to the others. A moment later, she heard the
thump-thump
of camel paws on the ground, then Betia was crouching beside her. The legionaries loomed over the girl, smelling of rust, fish sauce and sweat-stained leather.

"Where's Vladi—?" Thyatis turned sharply in alarm, staring into the darkness among the columns. There was nothing, only more shadow and the vague outlines of crumbling brick walls and more pillars. The shrine and temple had fallen on bad times. Her hand twitched to the hilt of her sword, but she repressed the urge to draw the blade. "—mir."

"Here," the Walach said, deep voice rumbling despite an effort to keep quiet.

"We're switching off," Thyatis whispered, turning back. "Nicholas is ahead. You back him up. Florus, the camels will have to go around—they won't fit through these columns. Betia, you've the rear guard."

"What about you?" The little Gaul's voice was so faint Thyatis almost missed her question.

The Roman woman bent close, close enough to smell lavender oil and juniper in Betia's hair. "I'll flank."

Vladimir padded off, armor lying quiet against his heavy, felted shirt. The legionaries crept after, each man leading a camel by a shortened rein. Thyatis caught Betia's shoulder as the girl moved past.

"Well behind," Thyatis breathed, her hand trembling against the urge to draw her blade and whirl with a shout. "Something is watching us. If anything happens, get away." The girl touched her fingers, then vanished into the gloom, drawing up the hood of her cloak. Thyatis squinted into the darkness, but the little Gaul had already vanished without a sound.

Be safe,
Thyatis thought, putting everything but soundlessness from her mind. Knuckles white on the hilt of her blade, hand gripping the scabbard, she drifted off to the right, circling around the columns.
I should take my sandals off,
she thought after a moment, hearing a faint
scuff-scuff
of leather on stone. A thin layer of sand covered the floor and she felt each grain as it rolled under her tread like a gong ringing from the Capitoline.

She passed through two, then three ranks of pillars. They were old and worn, lacking the smooth plaster facings of younger temples. There was no marble here, not so far from the sea, only crumbling brick, streaked with salt crystals. The moonlight faded and she looked up. A single chimney-like tower loomed against the stars, obscuring Luna's faded crescent. Without hesitation, she slipped forward, blade inching from the scabbard. The sensation of watchfulness was fading and she swiveled her head from side to side, staring down the dim corridors between the columns as she ran forward.

Where are the priests? Where are my sisters? Have they fled?
she thought. Suddenly, the maze of pillars ended. There was a courtyard, bounded on four sides by columns and an ancient, crumbling pediment. Before her, the round tower rose from a blocky foundation. A doorway gaped, twice the height of a man, three times as broad. Thyatis turned, thinking
what was that?
There had been a noise, half-heard, at the edge of perception.

HERE, something spoke in the darkness, COME TO ME.

Thyatis' eyes widened, light blooming on her face like the rising sun. Her mouth opened in a shout but no sound emerged, drowned in surging waves of color. Silence continued to grip the night.

COME, I HAVE BEEN WAITING, the voice boomed, though no sound reverberated in the air.

Brilliant white light blazed in the courtyard and Thyatis crumpled to her knees, eyes squeezed shut against the blinding glare, one hand thrown up to block out the brilliance flooding from the doorway. Tears streamed down her cheeks and the sword fallen on the ground began to smoke.

ENTER, MY CHILD. ENTER.

Where is everyone?
Nicholas paused, hand against grainy, eroded brick. He looked back along the avenue. One of the camels ambled towards him, a wash of moonlight gleaming on a legionary's iron
lorica
. Here on the summit of the hill, the curved horns of the moon were clear in the sky. The Latin felt a flash of relief to see the others, then stiffened. Still sheathed, Brunhilde suddenly began to hum, sending a piercing vibration through his hand and arm.

"'Ware!" Nicholas shouted in alarm, leaping away from the column. The dwarf-blade sang free from her sheath in a glittering arc. A pale, bluish light gleamed in watery steel, silhouetting the columns and fallen blocks of stone. Behind him, he heard the rush of feet and half-sensed Vladimir at his side.

A deep, cold voice boomed in the darkness, then three hulking figures were revealed by the wavering blue light. Two were clad from head to toe in dark cloaks and mailed armor, not even the glitter of an eye shining in the slit of their helmets. The other was a stocky, muscular Persian, blue highlights shining in his curly beard. Nicholas motioned Vladimir aside to clear fighting room, eyes fixed on the Persian captain.

He didn't die in the tomb,
Nicholas thought, licking his lips, weighing the situation in his mind.
What about the mage? Did he live too? Is he in the darkness, waiting to strike?
The image of Mithridates—such a big man, corded with muscle, effortlessly powerful—convulsing in the blast of witch flame haunted the Latin's dreams. But Brunhilde's presence in his grasp steeled his resolve, for she had never betrayed him, never failed in battle, not matter what foe they faced.

No one spoke, the Persians spreading out themselves. The big-beard wielded both a curl-crowned mace and cavalry sword, while the other two bore only swords of some dark metal. Nicholas blinked—they were hard to make out, even in the simmering glare of the rune blade—no more than dark outlines against an indistinct background. White breath curled from his lips. Brunhilde trembled eagerly in his hand, her desire sending a hot shock of bloodfire coursing through his limbs. He could hear the legionaries' hobnailed sandals rattle on stone behind him.

More Persians appeared from the shadows, gripping axes and long, straight swords. Nicholas settled into balance, briefly wishing he had a shield.
Even numbers, then, unless Thyatis hears... where is she?

Steel rang on steel with a high, singing note, then an echoing rasp of disengagement. Betia did not wait, turning away from behind the camels. She sprinted off between the pillars, sandals slapping on the cobblestones, chill air cutting her throat. Almost immediately, her foot smashed into the edge of a broken block of masonry. Biting her palm to keep from crying out, the girl hopped away, tears streaming down her face.
Fool girl! You can't run around blind!

"Thyatis?" she croaked, trying not to shout wildly. "Thyatis!"

Limping, her toe sparking with pain every time she put weight down, Betia pressed ahead, groping among the dark columns. She wished desperately for a light, but the candles and lanterns were slung in a woven basket on one of the camels.

A grumbling
crack
smote the air, making her start forward in surprise. Lurid yellow light shone forth for a moment, throwing long shadows down the aisles between the columns. Betia spun, staring back towards the road in horror, then the light faded and the sound of men shouting in battle echoed.

"Thyatis!" Betia shouted, caution discarded, stumbling forward. "Where are you?"

Nicholas rolled aside wildly, blocking desperately with Brunhilde. The air was still ringing with the blast of light. Camels shrieked, enveloped in flame as they charged down the road. Two of the legionaries sprawled on the ground, armor popping and sizzling, iron glowing cherry red. One of the cloaked men hewed down with his ebon blade and dwarf steel rang like a bell, turning the stroke. Nicholas felt the blow rock his arm back to the shoulder socket, then scrambled to his feet.

The Persian wight circled, blade held high over the shadowed helmet. Nicholas took hold of Brunhilde with both hands, blinking sparks from his eyes. A jagged after-image of the sorcerous blast lingered, making blind patches in his vision. The creature attacked, chopping hard at Nicholas' head. The Latin skipped back, the triangular end of the Persian blade hissing past. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Vladimir attacking, long axe whirling, driving back Curly Beard.

The clang and rattle of iron on iron was harsh in his ears, the legionaries at sword strokes, big rectangular shields up, with the Persian soldiers. Men grunted, rushing and darting in the terrible light. Brunhilde's radiance was barely enough to let Nicholas pick out details on the armor of the shape attacking him. He parried again, arm still stunned from the previous blow. He was forced to give ground.

The wight pressed the attack, chopping at his leg, then slapping Brunhilde aside with a monstrously powerful, wrenching blow. Nicholas gasped, still stunned by the strength in the black-clad arm. He scuttled back again and his hip slammed into one of the obelisks lining the road. He felt a chill, realizing there was nothing behind him but cliff and the steep, rocky hillside.

Brunhilde trembled a little as he raised her in guard. The dark shape slid sideways, cutting off his retreat down the avenue. Nicholas gathered himself, settling his grip two-handed on Brunhilde's hilt.

"Into the columns!" He shouted and rushed the black shape, stabbing for the thing's invisible face. The Persian met him head-on, throwing a shoulder into the Latin's rush. Nicholas, jaw tight in a snarl, whipped Brunhilde down, letting her take the ebon sword edge on edge. The stroke jarred his shoulder, rocking him back. Metal squealed—a high-pitched scream Nicholas felt as a crushing physical pain behind his right eye. A cold laugh issued from the heavy cowl, only inches away. Nicholas wrenched Brunhilde aside, slamming his hip into the Persian's groin. "Let's go!"