The Dark Lord

young voice spoke sharply in her thoughts.

Let me see him! Zoe surged forward, swelling in Zenobia's suddenly crippled thoughts.

The girl forced white hands to touch the cold, mottled iron of the mask, then press against a broad, muscular chest. The scars and puckered wounds under her fingers yielded nothing, neither life nor the dreadful semblance imparted by the sorcerer's will.

He is gone, Zoe said, voice sighing in wonder. He has escaped!

No! Wailed Zenobia, cringing away from fate and the dead, now truly-lifeless corpse of her lover. No! He cannot leave me alone! I waited for him, I waited...

Drums boomed across the water, interrupting the Queen's despair. Both minds turned, the body's eyes mixing blue and brown as they both struggled to see. On the shore, men poured forth from longboats and skiffs, galleys grinding to a halt in the shallows. The dead were waking, crowding the decks of every ship, sightless eyes turned to the beach. A long arc of the beach was dotted with companies and regiments gathering, the banners of Persia and Nabatea and the Decapolis snapping in the stiff, offshore wind.

Zoe made their body rise, hand rising to shade brown eyes. There will be fighting! The Romans are here!

Already? How can... Zenobia stirred, quick mind canvassing the fleet—still so many ships waiting to land, more than half—and then the wooded fields. The last ruddy rays of the sun gleamed on metal—helmets, spears, marching shields—and instinct and long-held command carried her to the fore.

'We must disembark,' the Queen cried, striding forth from her throne. The guardsmen turned, faces brightening with the thought of battle. Khalid was first among them, and he too had spied the Huns running towards the trees, bows already lofting arrows into the ranks of the enemy. 'Launch every barge and boat! Let the dead walk or swim ashore—they've no need to breathe—battle is swift upon us!'

Is the Roman prince here? Zenobia demanded of Zoe, though the girl was still focusing the bright core of her perception, preparing to enter the hidden world. Can you feel him?

No, Auntie, Zoe snapped, I've only just started!

The Queen restrained a curse, struggling for patience.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Roma Mater

'There she is,' Vladimir whispered, curly dark hair bound back behind his head, heavy iron scales wrapping his powerful shoulders and back. 'The house with the high gate and a moon carved in stone above the lintel.'

Nicholas eased his head around the corner, eyes narrowed in falling twilight. He saw nothing, only an empty alley, untenanted even by cats or wild dogs. 'I don't see anything,' he growled, though softly. Their informer had only given them a vague location, based on a half-heard whisper in the bustling port of Ostia. The Latin was trusting the Walach's uncanny nose for the rest.

Vladimir's long face twitched with a smile. 'No, she's a flighty doe, that one, with a soft tread and quiet ways.' Something turned in his gruff voice, steeped in grief. 'But she loves the smell of pine and juniper and sweet flowers. I can smell her, even from here.'

'Good,' Nicholas looked away from his friend, avoiding the Walach's wounded expression. 'Centurion—post a cohort at each end of this alley, then take your men quietly round to the front and break down the door. Bring the other ram up here. We've run this ship aground, but there are captives aboard our master needs alive.'

Vladimir continued to watch the gate while Nicholas dispersed his men. The Walach felt cold, though the dusk was very warm and a vision of Betia leaning against the railing of a trim ship, the blue-green sea framing her tanned face and fine blond hair filled his thoughts.

'Quit mooning about,' Nicholas said, thumping his shoulder with a mailed gauntlet. The Latin's scent had changed, spiky with anger and frustration. Vladimir looked up, seeing a tense, bitter expression on his friend's face. 'They're inside and I want to finish this. We'll wait just a bit, until the others are at the front door.'

—|—

'Empress... time to leave.' Thyatis knelt beside the cot, scarred fingers brushing short brown hair out of Helena's face. The older woman's eyes flickered open at the touch. Thyatis allowed herself only the briefest frown at the dull expression. The Empress' eyes slid away from hers. 'Very well.' Thyatis stood, then bent down and scooped Helena up, the thin body almost weightless in her arms.

'No,' the Empress protested, though her voice was even fainter than before. 'Take my son...'

'We're all going,' Thyatis muttered, hoisting the woman onto her back, arms loose around her neck. 'Let's go,' she called to the others in the cellar.

Shirin was right at Thyatis' side, flashing a warm smile at the Empress and a frown at her friend. 'You're very inconspicuous this way...' The Khazar woman's nimble fingers rearranged Helena's grip on Thyatis' chest and tied the two together with strips of cloth. '...but we can say your mother is sick, if we have to.'

Thyatis caught Shirin's hand and drew her close. The Khazar woman fell silent, lifting her face and Thyatis kissed her soundly, crushing Shirin's slimmer frame to her with one free arm. After a moment, they broke apart and Thyatis managed a rueful smile.

'We're all going together,' the Roman said, leaning close to her lover. 'But if anything happens, you take the boy yourself and get away.' Thyatis' voice settled to a flat, hard tone like iron pig. 'Go home, if you can. If we're separated, I will make my way to Itil.'

Shirin's luminous eyes widened and she snuck a look over her shoulder at Betia and Kore and the Duchess, who were waiting by the foot of the stairs. 'What about...'

Thyatis pressed Shirin's hand to her face, turning her cheek into the warm palm. With a quiet sigh, she said, 'he has to get out of the Empire and no one knows you're here. They'll be watching all the Duchess' ships and agents and the sea road west.' Shirin grimaced, but nodded very slightly.

'Let's go,' Thyatis said in a louder voice, holding onto the Empress with one hand and picking up her scabbarded spatha with the other. Betia led, darting up the stairs with Shirin on her heels. Kore scuttled along next, little Theodosius cocooned against her chest with braided cloth. Thyatis shifted in her boots, then took the steps one at a time, letting the Empress' weight settle against her. Helena groaned a little—she was sore from head to toe, though she'd barely moved for a day—then her thin hands clutched at Thyatis' tunic, fingernails catching on the mailed shirt beneath. 'Come on, Anastasia.'

The Duchess looked around the cellar for the last time, then snuffed out the wick of the single remaining candle and hurried to follow.

Thyatis loped out into the main atrium of the house and turned to the right, heading for a flight of stairs rising to the second floor. Almost immediately, she saw the others had not gone the same way. She skidded to a halt. Anastasia slowed up, looking around in alarm. 'Where...'

'They went outside,' Thyatis snapped. 'Go get them—we daren't leave this house on the ground! There are informers and patrols everywhere on the streets.'

The Duchess nodded and ran off through the columned hall toward the garden. Thyatis snarled to herself, then bounded up the steps, past an internal door, to the top of the staircase. A short balcony opened from the landing, leading to two bedrooms. One side of the passage was open on the garden court at the center of the house and Thyatis leaned out, seeing three figures near the ornamental pool.

'This way,' Thyatis called down, as softly as she could. Shirin looked up, her face a pale oval in falling twilight. Clouds had started to gather over the city as the sun set, and the light of myriad fires and lanterns below cast a dim yellow radiance on their white backdrop. Anastasia appeared in the courtyard and everyone ran back inside.

A dull boom echoed from below and Thyatis fell her heart skip, flutter and then beat strongly again.

'What was that?' Helena whispered in her ear.

'A ram,' Thyatis said grimly, taking two long steps back to the top of the stairs. Kore bolted up the steps two and three at a time, her glossy black hair framing a determined, fierce expression. Thyatis stood aside, letting the little girl dart past. 'The end of the landing,' Thyatis called after her, 'crawl out onto the roof, then to the north