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.