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!"
The ebon blade shattered, metal parting in a tortured groan. The wight staggered, then hissed in fury. Nicholas whipped Brunhilde sideways, a blur of smoking azure light. An up-flung arm caught her stroke on a wrist guard, but the dwarf steel trembled like a struck bell, shearing through the softer iron. Something brittle snapped and Nicholas bounded past, leaving the Persian sprawled on the ground.
"Go go go!" He bolted past Vladimir, taking a wild cut at the bearded Persian's head. The legionaries were running too, though at least one of them was a still shape on the ground. The Walach gave a skirling howl, then leapt into the darkness. Nicholas didn't look back, darting around the first column he passed.
"Thyatis!" Where was the woman? His arms felt like lead already, sweat streaming from his neck into his armor. Steam curled away from his exposed skin. Vladimir charged past and Nicholas grasped wildly for him, catching the man's cloak. "Get over here," he snarled.
Light sparked high above, a sudden flood of greenish refulgence. Nicholas looked away, half-blinded. Something hissed in the sky, floating above the broken crowns of the pillars, shedding a hot, spitting light. "Thrice-cursed sorcerer! Come on."
The enormous voice rang, shaking the ground. Whirling rainbow light etched the crevices between the stone slabs into perfect clarity. Thyatis caught a glimpse of enormous stone feet, pitted and scored by centuries of exposure to the sky and wind. Her entire body shuddered, pulsing in time to the sound filling the world. Blinded, she crawled on the floor, screaming soundlessly, groping for some kind of shelter. Smeared blood glowed ruby alongside her nose, picked out in the brilliant glare.
THE CIRCLE BEGINS TO CLOSE. THE SHELTER OF THE STARS FAILS, RIVEN BY INEXORABLE TIDES.
Thyatis clawed at the edge of a slab, dragging herself forward.
A viper unfolded a glossy, pearl-colored hood. Tiny black eyes glittered above a hissing mouth. A dark green tongue darted. A dusky hand grasped the viper swiftly, just behind the mottled, scaled head. The snake's jaws yawned, revealing a pink mouth and pale white fangs. The hand moved swiftly, each motion assured, squeezing the poison sac behind the muscular jaw with deft fingers. A milky drop oozed out, dropping into a pink palm. The venom hissed, bubbling the skin, then the hand lifted to Thyatis' mouth. Her tongue dipped, tasting the burning liquid. For a moment, it seemed there would be no pain, only a spreading numbness. Then the muscles in her chest contracted violently and she could feel her heart being crushed by a series of jolting spasms. She fell backward, stiffening, and her last sight was of the great doors crashing aside, revealing a crowd of grim-faced men in iron helmets.
Gasping, tears streaming from blind eyes, Thyatis turned her face from the coruscating light.
A PAEAN OF JOY RISES FROM THE CAMPFIRE, VANISHING INTO THE RISING DISK OF HOLY FATHER SUN.
A crowd of men pressed close around her, white robes shining with midday heat. Their faces, puffed with fat, glistening with sweat, smiled genially at her. Tired, head throbbing from the noise, Thyatis sat on a stone bench-one among hundreds-waving off pressing hands on either side. A man approached, freshly-shaven chin gleaming red. His mouth moved, but Thyatis could hear nothing over the roaring sound of the colossal voice. He too, she waved away, but he refused to leave. His hands grasped her shoulders, pinning her to the seat. Thyatis brushed the hands away, her voice raised in a sharp rebuke.
A blow rocked her back and she looked up to see a black-eyed man with a grim, seamed face draw back a bloody dagger for a second stroke. Limpid fire lit in her limbs, one hand snatching a freshly-cut stylus from the pocket of her robe. Before the man could react, she grasped his wrist and slammed the point of the stylus into his bicep. He screamed-though the noise was lost in the rolling boom of the voice speaking again. She leapt back, crashing into the bodies of many senators crowding close on all sides. Another blow stunned her, and she looked down, seeing a Corsican-styled hilt jutting from her chest. Cold welled in her breast, filling her throat. A ring of men surrounded her, faces drawn and tense, eyes wild in fear. Every one held a drawn knife.