The Dark Lord

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!'

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