stone plugs rumbled and the wall swung closed with a dull thud. Grit drifted from the ceiling, making the woman cough. Then she too hurried down the slope, feeling her way along the wall in the darkness.
—|—
With a shout, Nicholas leapt into the midst of the Persians as they charged out of the forest of pillars. The dwarf-steel blade flashed overhead as he cut at the lead man. The Persian—not the big bearded one, but one of his confederates—shouted in alarm, throwing up a block with his broadsword. Brunhilde clove through the weapon with a ringing spark and Nicholas felt a solid jolt in both arms. The man's helmet splintered, cloven through by the blow and steel grated on bone. Twisting his wrists, Nicholas wrenched the blade free, a wash of blood darkening the metal.
More Persians swarmed out from the columns, two attacking him as he backed up. Vladimir had started to chant a high, wailing war cry and the Walach threw a long, twisting shadow in the glare of a fresh witch light sputtering overhead. Nicholas slapped aside a swinging mace with the flat of his blade, then bulled in, smashing the nearest Persian in the face with his fist. Mailed knuckles banged on the noseguard of the man's helmet, but the soldier rocked back, stunned. Grimacing, Nicholas grasped the protruding iron, digging his thumb into the man's eye.
The other Persian soldier charged, hewing wildly overhand with his cavalry sword. Nicholas surged back, swinging the broken-nosed Persian into the path of his fellow's blade. The overhand blow sank deep into the man's back, drawing a hoarse grunt and a fountain of black fluid from the dying Persian's mouth. Nicholas lunged, jamming Brunhilde under the collapsing man's arm. The chisel-shaped tip of the runeblade cracked against the attacker's breastplate, ripping through close-set links of chain and sank into his chest with a flat, slapping sound.
A queer, shivering cry sounded and Nicholas swung round, chilled by the sound.
One of the black-cloaked men waded into the fray, head and shoulders above the Persians and Romans struggling back and forth across the little plaza. The creature bounded forward, flat black blades in either hand. In a blink, the thing hewed the head clean from a set of Roman shoulders, then smashed Florus to the ground with a blow of his fist. Nicholas' eyes widened, seeing the plates of the centurion's
In his hand, Brunhilde suddenly woke to life, flaring blue-white like the sun shining through sea ice. Nicholas felt her scream in defiance and crabbed forward, his veins roaring with bloodfire. The shape turned, the blue glare shining in empty eye slits. There was a cold
Nicholas parried high, slapping away the point of the sword cutting at his head. The second point stabbed in, flickering in and out of sight as the illumination in the sky faded. Nicholas blocked, hilt to hilt, driving the creature's blade into the ground. He stamped down, trying to catch the thing's instep. His hobnailed sandal ground on an armored foot, but found no purchase. The thing smashed an elbow into his chest, throwing Nicholas back, breathless, through an archway.
Vladimir leapt in, axe-blade glittering in a swift arc. The blow glanced from the Persian's breastplate, tearing the cloak away, sending sparks flashing and chunks of iron spalling away. Nicholas rolled up to his feet, then darted in from the flank. For a moment, there was a blur of metal, blades licking back and forth as they fought in the doorway. The Persian parried effortlessly, weaving a double-bladed barrier of steel in front of him. Vladimir hacked at his legs and the creature leapt up, slashing at Nicholas' head.
The Roman panted, sweat streaming down his arms and legs. Everything narrowed to a swirling gray tunnel, focused solely on dancing black metal and the void of enameled armor shifting in and out of sight. He lunged again, trying to catch the thing's elbow joint. Brunhilde was slapped away and Nicholas had to leap back, arms windmilling for balance to escape losing his head to a powerful sideways cut.
His back foot, sliding on the floor, suddenly found a raised lip of stone.
Beyond the thing's huge shoulder, he caught a glimpse of Florus twitching into oblivion, blood spilling from his slack mouth in a thin stream. The other legionaries lay scattered on the plaza, arms and legs twisted in death. The big curly-bearded Persian loped through the arch, shaking gore from his mace.
'Run!' Nicholas shouted at Vlad, gasping as he weakly blocked another cut. He strained, muscle against muscle, hilts locked, Brunhilde's point driven down to the floor. The Walach scuttled past and vanished below Nicholas' line of sight. The Latin kicked, catching the black-cloaked thing on its hip. The blow knocked the Persian back and Nicholas skidded sideways. An open, stone-sided shaft yawned beside his foot.
Black-cloak fell back a step, adjusting its grip on one blade, flipping the other in its hand. Nicholas gasped for breath, crouched, Brunhilde's tip wavering in the air. Curly-beard circled to his left and the two Persians adjusted their spacing. Nicholas swallowed, keeping both opponents in view. His arms burned with fatigue.
—|—
Vladimir leapt down the curving steps, two and three at a time. The intermittent glare from outside barely illuminated the pit, but gave the Walach's huge, dark eyes enough to see by. The stairs circled away into the depths and he could feel a cold, steady wind blowing up past him.
'No choice,' he growled, hearing Nicholas panting harshly above and the slippery, ringing clash of metal. 'Got to be better below than above!' Vladimir spun, bounding back up the steps. As he did, flared nostrils caught a fragment of scent in the roiling air.
He stopped, limbs tensed, bending to the crumbling old stone steps.
Vladimir crabbed sideways down the steps, nose close to the curving surface.
Then the trail stopped abruptly and he frowned, puzzled. Nothing but a wall faced him, lines of thin, splintery brick and fragments of old plaster. Long-splayed fingers tested the masonry.
'Nicholas!' he screamed, putting his shoulder against the wall. There was an answering rumble and brick screeched on brick. 'Nicholas! This way!'
—|—
Brunhilde whirled in a blur; fat hot sparks leaping from her edge as Nicholas waded in, throwing a blizzard of cuts and thrusts at the wight. Startled, the black shape gave ground, parrying deftly. Nicholas jumped past the shape, driving down one ebon blade—extended in a block—and then flicking the dwarf-steel blade back. The creature didn't flinch, interposing the haft of the other blade, but Brunhilde struck square with a ringing
Metal squealed, iron flashed hot and the dwarf steel burned through. A hoarse, gargling cry went up; a black, mailed hand clawing at the still-unseen face. Nicholas slammed his shoulder into the creature, sending it crashing to the floor.
The big curly-bearded Persian shouted hoarsely, leaping in, mace swinging at Nicholas' face. The Roman ducked, then sprinted past. His boot hit the lip of stone at the edge of the pit, then he kicked off, plunging down into the darkness.
Wind whipped past for an instant, then Nicholas crashed into the steps beside Vladimir. The Walach's eyes were wide in surprise, his mouth a round O. His long-fingered hands grabbed for the Latin, who swayed wildly on the edge of the steps. Vladimir seized the front of his shirt, giving a great heave. Both men toppled back into the dark opening yawning in the side of the pit.
Nicholas, breathless, his legs smarting with the blow of his landing, gasped for air.
Vladimir scrambled up, eyes wide, searching the walls. Above, at the top of stairs, a terrible voice boomed in anger. Boots clattered on brick. Light flared in the shaft, a sullen red glow. In the glare, the Walach caught sight of a glistening smear of sweat on a stone jutting from the wall of the passage. Heedless of the consequences, he
