him, rushing down the lane, En-hedu at his side, looking back over her shoulder to make sure no one followed.
They found an open doorway and stepped within, watching the crowd move back and forth, everyone shouting and asking each other what to do.
Sounds of fighting increased, and En-hedu realized the noise was coming from several different directions.
Then she heard furious voices shouting in Egyptian, and she peered out to see a band of men moving down the lane, heading toward the gate.
She recognized Hathor’s voice rising above the din. The man’s speech seemed calm and controlled despite the chaos, as he gave orders and pushed the men along.
“Someone is ordering them toward the gate,” she said.
“There must be fighting there as well.” They crouched down as the force of invaders pushed by their doorway, breathing hard, cursing and yelling at each other. Before they could do anything, another half-dozen or so men ran past, following the first group and heading to the gate.
Tammuz pulled his hand free, and En-hedu knew what he planned.
When the last of Korthac’s men passed by, Tammuz slipped out behind the straggler, caught up with him in three strides, and struck him down.
With enough light to see now, and to her horror, she realized more foreigners were still coming. Tammuz saw the first one, who shouted out in Egyptian as he raised his sword and struck.
Tammuz ducked away from the blow, took another step back, and when the man moved toward him, raising his sword with a shout, Tammuz lunged forward with a blur of motion, extending his right arm and burying the knife into the man’s chest. The man cried out in pain, as the sword fell from his grasp, Tammuz’s knife striking true beneath the breastbone.
But the mortally wounded man collapsed forward, his momentum taking him into Tammuz, and knocking her master backward to the ground.
En-hedu heard the crunch as Tammuz’s head struck against the base of the wall as he landed, stunned, with the dead or dying man’s body nearly covering him.
Two more Egyptians ran up, one shouting something incomprehensible to the other. One swerved around his fallen comrades and kept going.
She saw Tammuz, dazed, trying to push the dead man off his chest with his one good hand. The second Egyptian raised his sword as Tammuz, still clutching his knife, struggled to free himself from beneath the body. The collision with the mud wall had stunned him, and the knife slipped from his trembling fingers.
En-hedu screamed as she jumped forward, raising her knife. The man saw her and dodged aside. He swung around, the sword cutting toward her head. She threw herself beneath it, rolling in the dirt and landing beside Tammuz, losing her grip on her own knife in the process. She twisted to her knees and threw herself across Tammuz, getting between him and the Egyptian. He would have to kill her first. She reached for the knife she’d dropped, but fumbled with the hilt, her eyes locked in horror on the man above her, watching as the sword swung down toward her head.
25
As Grond raced up the stairs, he heard the clash of swords and the sounds of fi ghting rising from the upper room. He’d killed two men on the lower floor, wasting precious time as his captain disappeared up the stairs. Luckily, he didn’t encounter any more guards. Now reaching the top of the landing, Grond found the door nearly closed, but ajar.
Just as he reached for it, the door flew open, jerked wide by someone within. Before Grond could react, a body slammed into him, knocking him backward onto the landing. To keep from falling off, Grond grappled with the man, who struggled with surprising strength, dropping underneath Grond’s arms and trying to push him off the landing and break free at the same time.
Grunting, Grond dropped his sword, unable to use it effectively, and wrapped both arms around the man. They spun around, perilously close to the landing’s edge, each man trying to twist free, neither able to use a weapon. Behind him, Grond heard footsteps on the stairs and men shouting in Egyptian. Enemy soldiers must have gotten past Mitrac and entered into the house. Grond redoubled his efforts to break free.
Instead his foot tripped on something and he fell to his knees. His attacker broke his grip and lurched toward the stairs. Grond flung himself at the man, caught his arm, and jerked him back, wrapping an arm about him.
Off balance, the man stumbled, but managed to drive a fist into Grond’s face. With a shout of rage, Grond reached out to grasp his assailant, who twisted violently. The effort took Grond past the edge of the landing, and he lost his balance. He fell, clutching his assailant and taking him with him.
Holding each other, they dropped nearly six feet. They crashed together onto the long table below, its solid planks doing little to break their fall. Momentum carried them off the table, and they rolled onto a bench and then to the floor, Grond taking most of the impact. He felt his breath knocked from his body. By the time Grond could move, his attacker had trod on his chest and reached the front door. The man unbarred it, shouted for help, and vanished into the courtyard.
Cursing the evil luck that took him off the landing, he untangled himself from the bench. Grond struggled to his feet and pulled the knife from his belt, to see three Egyptians burst through the now-open front door. But an arrow struck the first down. He saw Mitrac nocking another shaft, at the foot of the stairs.
Ignoring this fresh wave of foes, Grond swung himself onto the steps.
“Cover me!” He could just make out two more of Korthac’s men on the top landing, one of them pounding on the door with his sword hilt and shouting in Egyptian. They must have rushed up the stairs while he and the unknown man had fallen from the landing. For the first time, Grond realized that someone had secured the door again. The other man heard Grond’s footsteps and turned toward him, swinging his sword with a swift motion, no doubt expecting to strike before Grond could get close enough to use the knife.
Instead, one of Mitrac’s arrows feathered itself in the man’s shoulder, knocking him off balance, and the sword dropped from his hand. Grond scooped the bronze blade up with his left hand, and stepped over the dying man. Grond thrust low with the sword, his face brushing the topmost step, as the other Egyptian deflected the blade aside. Still moving forward, Grond shoved his knife into the man’s leg, eliciting a grunt of pain. The man’s counterthrust met only air as Grond jerked his body away. The Egyptian took a step back, but his leg gave way and he tumbled down right in front of Grond’s knife. A quick stab finished the man.
“Grond, give us room!” Mitrac had climbed the landing and now stood beside Grond, but turned his attention downward, toward the main entrance. Grond saw Mitrac had to tilt his long bow to the side as he attempted to notch another arrow. A second archer stood on a lower step, and two more of Eskkar’s men began backing slowly up the stairs, as dark shadows slipped through the outer doorway toward them, gathering for the attack.
Grond moved aside to give Mitrac room, then bent over and pitched the dead bodies off the landing with two quick heaves, before turning his gaze back to the door. “Open the door!” He heard the rasp of bronze from within. “It’s Grond!”
He pounded on the door with his sword hilt, then threw his shoulder against it, but the door held firm. He’d seen the thick panels enough times to know it couldn’t be forced, not without tools or more men. An arrow thudded into the wood beside Grond’s head, ripping out a lock of hair as it passed, and he heard Mitrac’s bowstring twang in response.
Grond knew he didn’t have time to force the door, not with all these Egyptians rushing toward him. Eskkar had found a way inside somehow, and might be trapped there, but Grond couldn’t do anything about it.
He looked down toward the dim chamber below. Gray silhouettes milled about just outside the house’s entrance, shouting in the language of Egypt.
They’d be joining those inside soon, he knew. Grond and Mitrac would have to hold the stairs until help came.
“Take the top, Mitrac,” he ordered, and moved down the steps, past his men, his sword in one hand, the knife in the other. “Let them come to their deaths.” He repeated the words, in Egyptian this time, as he tightened his grip on the sword.
