The man was quick, though, and turned his head, catching the brunt of Dan’s blow on the side of his head, just behind the right eye. He swung the knife backhanded in a vicious arc, scarcely missing Dane’s throat.
Leaning back to avoid the deadly knife stroke, Dane delivered a roundhouse kick to the man’s stomach, but to little effect. The guy’s abs were like iron! The man struck again with his knife, low and hard. Dane turned the thrust again, this time receiving a deep cut across the back of his left forearm. He stepped in close to his assailant and drove his elbow into the man’s left cheekbone. He grunted and stabbed at Dane again, this time a sloppy, overhand stroke. Dane caught the man’s wrist in his left hand, but immediately felt the man’s arm slipping free of his bloody palm. Fingers clawed at his eyes, and Dane grabbed the man’s left hand in his right.
They struggled, nose-to-nose, strength against strength. If only Dane could get some distance between himself and the attacker, enough to give him time to draw the sword. He squeezed tighter with his left hand, and pain shot down his arm from the gashes his opponent’s knife had opened. Still hurting from the fall down the well, he felt himself gradually being forced back. As they came into the light, he could see the man more clearly.
The attacker had short, dark hair, and eyes to match. His olive skin and dark clothing made him appear a shadow in the darkness of the tunnel. He was an inch or two taller than Dane, and solidly muscled. In the dim light, only his white teeth stood out as he fixed Dane with a toxic smile.
“My name is Stefan,” he said in a voice trembling with exertion and rage. “I am of the Blood Order. I wanted you to know who is killing you.”
Dane felt his right heel slip over the edge of the path. If he went into the water, the current would sweep him over the edge in a matter of seconds. “You’ve got bad breath, pal,” Dane muttered. He yanked his head forward, driving his forehead into Stefan’s nose. Letting go with his right hand, he grabbed the man by the hair, and yanked his head forward butting him in the face again. He felt blood on his face, and knew that it was not his own. A fierce tremor rattled the ground beneath them, and Dane felt Stefan’s footing give. Another blow, and now Stefan was pushing away from him. Dane gave the man a shove, reaching back for the sword as his assailant stumbled backward.
Stefan recovered himself quickly. The man’s face was a mask of blood, and he fixed Dane with a crazed, broken-toothed grin as he leapt forward, knife at the ready.
Dane brought the sword free, swinging it in a sharp, downward arc. He heard Stefan scream as the sword parted hand from wrist. The dark-clad man reeled, staggering blindly toward the edge of the pathway. Dane sprung toward him, delivering a vicious kick to the small of Stefan’s back, and sending him crashing into the water. Dane watched as the current swept him away. He turned to find Atiq waiting for him, hands folded across his chest.
“Thanks for the help,” Dane muttered, letting the sword hang down by his side.
“You were doing fine on your own,” Atiq said. He turned and walked toward the glowing object. “Come.”
Dane followed, his eyes fixed on the apparition before him. As the light touched him, his cares seemed to drain away. All thoughts of the fight with Stefan, his concerns about escaping the underground temple, all evaporated as he marveled at the sight before him.
The light that radiated from the white sphere touched him as if it had substance. His pace slowed. He felt as if he were swimming through a sparkling stream of mother-of-pearl light. Overcome with wonder, he shuffled along the path. He scarcely noticed that he was now trailing the tip of the sword along the stone walk.
“It is all right, Mr. Maddock,” Atiq said calmly, “come inside.” The old man stood at the door, beckoning to him. Dane took another slow step forward.
Stefan clutched the huge stone with all of his remaining strength, straining against the force of the current that threatened to drag him to his death. The tremor had jarred loose a sizable portion of the tunnel roof, blocking his descent over the falls and into the pit below. He lay motionless as first the old man, then Maddock passed only meters away. The rock lay between them, and the half-light in this portion of the tunnel rendered him nigh invisible. When the two men moved out onto the walkway that extended above the yawning abyss, he knew that he was safe.
Holding on tight with his left hand, he kicked hard, struggling to pull himself up. He gained an inch, then another. Soon, he was able to hook his right arm over the rock. The cold water had slowed his heartbeat, but blood continued to flow from the stump where his right hand had been. He pulled with both arms now, and felt the jagged stone tear through the fabric of his clothing and cut into his exposed flesh. He struggled forward, inching closer to the path in the middle of the passageway.
He felt no pain, only rage. For the first time, he had failed. His team had been picked apart by the old man’s henchmen. The sword was beyond his reach now. He could not hope to recover it unarmed and in his present condition. His all-consuming goal now was to live long enough to obliterate the unholy sphere, Maddock and the sword along with it. He would cleanse this pagan sanctuary with holy fire.
CHAPTER 29
Dane walked slowly into the glowing sphere, scarcely noticing the bars that seemed to envelop him like a porcelain web. In the center lay a rectangular slab of the opalescent stone. But it was what lay atop the block that drew his attention.
A huge skeleton lay in full repose. Its form was vaguely human, but with a broader chest and a tiny waist. Sturdy arm and leg bones spoke of powerful muscles. Its skull was like that of a human, but with a higher forehead. The face was like an inverted triangle, ending in a narrow chin. Spread out on either side of the body, curving up above the head and sweeping down below knee level was a lacework of delicate bones.
“He has wings,” Dane whispered. Even in death, the creature was both beautiful and terrible. He felt strangely serene in its presence. He stood silently for a moment.
“So, the Devil is dead?” he finally asked.
Atiq laughed, and placed a hand on Dane’s shoulder. “A common misconception. Lucifer was a sinner like the rest of us.” The old man paused, scratching his bearded chin. “Well, not like the rest of us, but a sinful creature still. Over time, his story became intertwined with theology, resulting in the Satan story that many people believe in today.”
“How did Goliath come by the sword?” Dane asked. It was all so confusing. “Did Rienzi know about…this?” He could not tear his eyes from the amazing creature before him.
“Tradition holds that Goliath found this place. Claiming descent from the Nephilim, he believed that it was his destiny to wield the sword. He and his brothers built their tombs in the rock above, in imitation of the upper chambers. The false wall, with the carvings of the Philistine giants, was built to conceal their resting place, with the sword as the key. Sometime after the death of King David, the sword was recovered, and buried with Goliath.”
“Behold, I saw a star fall from heaven to earth, and he was given the key of the shaft of the bottomless pit,” Dane whispered. He did not know how he managed to recall that bit of scripture, but in this situation it seemed to fit.
Atiq nodded and continued. “Centuries later, the Nabataeans rediscovered the temple. The sword was returned to this place, Goliath’s cavern walled up, and the Protectors formed to guard the wonders of the temple. Sadly, as Petra’s importance diminished, so did the diligence of the Protectors. When word of Rienzi’s claims reached the Protectors, they verified the loss of the sword. They reconstructed the exterior wall, which Rienzi had broken through, and reaffirmed their commitment to protecting the temple. My grandfather’s great-grandfather was one of those Protectors.”