Eskkar a few days to figure out what’s happened, so we’ll have plenty of time to prepare.”
Annok-sur appeared at the bedroom door and bowed low, keeping her eyes on the floor. “Master, may I fetch fresh water for Trella?”
Ariamus looked at her and grinned. “Maybe you can carry something for…”
A crashing sound echoed throughout the house, coming from below.
For a moment, Ariamus and Korthac looked at each other. Then a shout in Egyptian came from the courtyard, and even Ariamus had no trouble understanding the message. He moved to the landing and looked down into the darkened room below. The main door remained closed. Then heavy steps echoed from the kitchen area, and again he heard men shouting Eskkar’s name. Louder footsteps sounded below, and Ariamus ground his teeth with an oath.
Stepping back from the landing, he yanked the door shut, then dropped the heavy wooden bar across the braces.
“What is it?” Korthac rose to his feet, though he remained behind the table. The guard moved beside him, hand on his sword.
“We’re under attack! Eskkar has returned.” Ariamus heard heavy footsteps on the stairs, then the door shuddered. A voice he recognized called out “Trella” again and again.
Ariamus backed away from the door. “It’s Eskkar! He’s here!” Something heavy pounded on the door, making it shake against the braces. Ariamus pulled his sword from its sheath. Damn the barbarian. How had he managed to get into the city, inside the compound? Not that it mattered.
He turned to face the Egyptian. “Where are your men, Korthac?” Almost in answer, the sound of men fighting rose up from the courtyard.
“Stop her!”
Korthac’s voice made Ariamus turn. He saw Annok-sur, who’d shrunk against the wall when the noise started, dart past him toward the door.
Ariamus lunged to catch her, but she slipped beneath his arm, reached the doorway, and flipped the bar up from its catches, shouting Eskkar’s name.
Ariamus caught her by the hair and dragged her back, but the door burst open, crashing against the wall and outlining a looming shadow holding a long sword.
Cries of alarm sounded across the courtyard. Eskkar knew Korthac’s men would be spilling from the doors behind him, swords in their hands. “Keep them pinned inside,” Eskkar shouted, hoping Mitrac’s archers could contain that threat. Then over all the clamor, Eskkar heard Grond’s voice, bellowing out to him.
“Captain, come here.”
Hearing the urgency, Eskkar abandoned his assault on the main entrance and rushed to his bodyguard’s side. The kitchen door stood open.
A half-asleep servant had opened it, either to let the attackers in or just to find out about the commotion. Whatever the motive, Grond had already pushed his way inside, and Eskkar followed behind him. The two men rushed through the kitchen, knocking a stool aside, toward the dark corridor that led to the main room. They’d barely cleared the cooking area when two shadows stumbled into the hallway from one of the sleeping chambers.
One of them cried out as Grond struck the first man down and grappled with the other. Eskkar ignored them, pushing both men aside. He knew the house even in darkness, and he ran past the other two doorways, turned the corner, and took the steps that hugged the wall two a time. At the landing he pushed against the door to the workroom, but found it, too, fastened. Nevertheless, he flung his weight against it, but this barrier, as strong as the one below, scarcely budged. Calling out Trella’s name at the top of his lungs, he pounded on it with the hilt of his sword.
To his surprise, he heard a woman’s voice call his name. The sound of the bar rasping against the door caught his ear, and he shoved the thick planks, pushing the door open. Light from the upper room illuminated the landing, and he saw Annok-sur there, struggling with someone who reached out to slam the door closed. Eskkar shoved his shoulder against the thick wood and forced his way in.
The man stepped back, knocking Annok-sur down with his fist even as he raised a sword in the other. Only a single oil lamp burned in the outer chamber, but the wavering flame gave more than enough light for Eskkar to recognize his opponent.
“Ariamus!” All of Eskkar’s anger and hatred went into the name. He’d despised the man every day that he served under him, and now Ariamus stood here, in Eskkar’s private room. His sword lunged out, a straight, quick thrust that should have pierced his enemy’s heart.
But Ariamus sprang back, then countered with a powerful thrust of his own. Another man, black bearded and dark skinned, no doubt one of Korthac’s guards, appeared at Ariamus’s side and thrust his sword as well.
Eskkar knocked it aside, but yielded a step, the long sword cumbersome in this kind of fight, with no room to swing the blade. Both his attackers pressed forward and Eskkar, weaving the blade between them, had to take another step backward as he fended them off. One more step and he would be back on the landing, the door closed in his face again.
Suddenly Ariamus cried out in pain, stumbled, and fell to his knees with a curse. Annok-sur clung to Ariamus’s leg, her teeth fastened to his calf. The distraction gave Eskkar the moment he needed. He took a half- step back, ducked down, then lunged forward. The foreigner shifted to parry the blow, but Eskkar stretched out his arm and extended his body into the thrust. The guard managed to deflect the point from his stomach, but the blade buried itself in the man’s side, and he gasped in pain. Eskkar tried to free the sword, but the man staggered against the wall, his body holding the blade fast.
Eskkar twisted the hilt and the man shrieked in agony, dropping his sword as his hands clasped the blade that burned within him. Eskkar rushed forward, lowering his shoulder into the wounded guard and knocking him backward. At the same moment, Ariamus smashed the hilt of his sword on Annok-sur’s head, freeing himself from her clutch. He drew back his sword, but before he could thrust forward, Eskkar leapt toward him. He slammed into Ariamus, pulling the big sword free from the dying Egyptian as he did so.
They grappled. Too close to use his sword, Eskkar dropped his weapon and seized Ariamus in both arms, pinning the writhing Ariamus before his enemy could bring his weapon into play. Something blocked the light for an instant, and Eskkar knew someone moved behind him. Keeping his arms locked around Ariamus, Eskkar whirled around, keeping Ariamus between him and whatever danger threatened.
Eskkar caught the flickering flash of the blade in the lamplight, and Ariamus screamed as a sword pierced his upper arm. Lifting Ariamus off the floor in a burst of rage, Eskkar threw the man at this new attacker, stopping the third man’s advance for an instant, until he shoved Ariamus hard against the wall. The former captain of the guard slid to the floor, dazed and clutching at his arm.
By then, Eskkar had reached down and scooped up his sword. This must be Korthac. No one else would be in these rooms. Only Korthac stood between him and Trella. But the door stood open behind him, and Korthac’s men might be here at any moment. Eskkar raised his bloody blade and moved forward.
Atop the tower, the stars and moon provided barely enough light for Drakis to see his enemies, milling shadows outlined against the night sky. Screaming like a demon, he hacked left and right, striking at anyone who wasn’t shouting Eskkar’s name. His men burst through the opening behind him, shouting their war cries. They’d driven the confused defenders up the steps, out of the tower, and onto the battlement, but Korthac’s followers still had to be killed. Drakis had no thought except to swing his sword, yelling Eskkar’s name at the top of his lungs, as he struck and struck at the enemy before him, not caring where his blade landed.
The defenders, panicked and thinking themselves outnumbered, lost the will to fight. Caught by surprise in the night, their thoughts turned to flight. One man died, then another, before the rest dropped their swords and fled. They scrambled to get away, shouting for mercy and leaping to the parapet that butted against the side of the tower, a fifteen-foot drop to the parapet below. Those who managed it ran for their lives, thanking their gods for their escape. One man went over the outer wall into the ditch, falling nearly twenty-five feet. A scream of pain announced his landing.
Gulping air into his lungs, his chest heaving, Drakis shook his head to clear his mind. He’d taken the tower. Looking around, he saw bodies strewn about. An arrow whistled past his head, and he realized that it came from the other tower. His excitement disappeared as he ducked down. The other tower still remained in enemy hands,
