The sound of a distant crash rippled through the air and the floor trembled a little under their feet. Snarling, Nicholas leapt to her side and together they dragged on the end of the iron bar. Squealing metal answered, then the entire bronze disc tilted up. Vladimir, poised and ready, ducked underneath, putting his own broad shoulders under the weight of metal.
"Vlad," Thyatis gasped, feeling her forearms burning with effort. "Can you lift this?"
A hollow grunt answered, then the Walach squared his legs, the tendons in his neck straining. Each of his hands curled back, groping across ancient gears until they found the edge, then long fingers curled around the beveled surface. Thyatis plucked the pry bar out of the eye-shaped opening-now twisted by the lever's pressure-and stepped back. Nicholas did the same, on the opposite side of the disc. Vladimir swayed a little, then found his footing.
"I can," he grunted. "But it will be slow."
"Good. Nicholas, you go with-"
Greenish-white light flared in the chamber, blinding Thyatis, casting long-reaching shadows from the pillars. She turned, automatically dropping into a guard stance. Nicholas was in motion as well, springing down onto the open floor, the runeblade glittering in his hands. The tunnel mouth flared with light, then the shadows of running men grew large on the walls.
Wheezing, Vladimir stumped down the flight of steps. Without stopping to consider, he followed the faint smudges of footprints on the age-old floor and the delicate traces of juniper and lavender in the air. A half-hidden passage yawned before him, slanting gently upwards.
Thyatis stared after the Walach with a sinking heart-the Daughters fled that way, but how else will he get out? — then groped at her waist for the hilt of her spatha. The weapon was gone, lost somewhere in a dream of blazing rainbow light. Swallowing, she stepped down onto the hexagon-tiled floor, taking the iron bar in both hands. Your weapon is the mind, ran a training chant in her memory, summoning up memories of sweat and clashing hardwood on the training floors of Thira.
Calmness settled over Thyatis as her body responded, shifting into line with the tunnel mouth, left hand leading, right high, cold iron nestled in her palms. Thyatis looked sideways at Nicholas. The Latin was watching her, though he'd fallen into a crouch, one hand run forward against the crossguard of his sword, the other almost on the pommel.
"You're not going?" Thyatis frowned.
Nicholas shook his head, and she could see a glint of barely repressed fury in his eyes. "What about our duty?" he snarled. "Two more lives for some rusted bronze…"
She nodded stiffly, acknowledging their dispute. Her own anger was beginning to spark in reaction to his. "Later, then."
Armored boots rang on stone and the black shapes of the Persians spilled from the tunnel mouth, spreading out across the floor. Instinctively, Thyatis and Nicholas drew apart, the woman drifting left, he to the right. As she moved, feet light on the floor, the Roman woman felt the air begin to cool. Watching the enemy, her eyes widened in surprise.
Though the curly-bearded Persian had stepped down onto the main floor, she was surprised to see him stand aside for another shape-a tall, hulking figure, enameled black armor gleaming in the lazy greenish white light hissing near the ceiling-this one flexing a cavalry blade of flat, dark metal. The thing's helmet was gone, revealing a withered skull and dark pits for eyes. The skin had contracted against the bone, revealing long incisors and jagged, dry scars.
The thing's head turned and Thyatis felt a physical shock-a rolling wave of frigid air chilled the sweat beaded on her arms and cheeks-and a growing, horrible sensation of something other curdled in her stomach.
"If you yield," the creature said, voice grating and echoing in a dead throat, "our master will give you new life and you will escape oblivion."
"Never!" Nicholas barked, spitting in the Persian's direction. Thyatis didn't waste her breath. Her attention was not focused on the horrific creature or the big Persian cavalryman but on the sorcerer she could see hiding in the shadows of the tunnel mouth, face drawn and gray, hands trembling. She dismissed two wounded Persians-mortal men by the sweat sheening their faces and the blood leaking from beneath mail hauberks-from her consideration, gaze flicking back to the dark captain.
"Resist and you will perish without hope of rebirth." The rattling-bone voice continued, as if the Latin's outburst had been inconsequential.
Thyatis let her body relax, each muscle falling into a long-accustomed pattern of motion. She advanced, the iron bar held loosely in her hands. Specificity faded from her vision, sharp-edged clarity fading into patterns of motion and intent. Nicholas was also moving, the glittering tip of Brunhilde dancing in the air. Her senses released from grasping consciousness, Thyatis felt a new shock, making her heart race in fear.
A dim yellow glow flared in the dead thing's eyes and a mind-crushing sense of vast oppression flooded the chamber. The dark captain stiffened, one claw-like hand convulsing. The lights dimmed, oil lanterns hissing out, the sputtering light dancing at the ceiling dimming abruptly. Only the blue-white flare of Nicholas' longsword remained and Brunhilde flared bright, though the shadows had grown pitch-black at the edges of the chamber.
You waste time, whispered a terrible voice, issuing more from the trembling air than the creature's throat. A chorus of crickets and squirming, rattling sounds fluttered at the edge of hearing. Find the Eye!
"Haiii!" Thyatis tore herself free of a drowning, choking sensation, leaping forward with a mighty bound. The iron bar lashed out, crunching across the face of the corpse-thing. Bone shattered, white fragments spinning away in the air and the head flew back. A blur of motion, Thyatis whipped the butt of the bar back, ramming the circular end into the withered cheekbone. The jawbone shattered, black dust jetting from empty eye sockets. The bar burst through the skull with a crackling sound.
The air condensed in terrific cold and Thyatis cursed, leaping aside, the iron bar lodged in the corpse's head. Mist boiled from the falling body and she felt the sweat on her face and hands and arms freeze, then shatter with a brittle sound as she moved. A sodium glow flared bright in hollow eye sockets, then died. The crushing atmosphere lifted in a dizzying rush.
Chaos erupted in the chamber, the Persians charging Nicholas, Curly-beard dragging a single-edged knife from his belt. Thyatis sprang back, cartwheeling towards the platform. The knife flashed past between her legs, clattering away from a pillar. She snatched up another pry bar.
She looked back, catching a frozen instant of time: Nicholas met the two Persians with his own rush and one man toppled, right arm sheared away. The Latin's blade keened with a high note, blood wicking away from watery metal. Curly-beard spun away from Thyatis, his mace swinging in a tight arc at Nicholas' back.
"Look out!" Thyatis shouted, springing forward.
Nicholas blocked a thrust by the other soldier, then swung back, his sword a blue flare in the darkness. The mace slammed into his crossguard with a ringing tang! The Latin cried out, blade flying from his grasp. Directly in front of Thyatis, the corpse-thing rose from the floor, one mailed hand grasping the iron bar. She skidded to a halt, stunned to see the creature still live and the dark captain wrenched the pry bar free from his ruined skull. A powerful wrist flicked and Thyatis threw herself to the side, still goggling in horror. Jagged iron slashed past, clanking from the side of the platform, then bouncing across the floor.