Instantly Eskkar released his grip on the man’s neck and levered himself up onto Korthac’s chest, using his weight to keep the man pinned to the floor. Korthac’s fingers groped for the knife and managed to grasp it, but Eskkar, with a brutal surge, slammed his knee onto Korthac’s forearm, pinning his foe’s right arm against the floor. Eskkar shifted his weight, caught Korthac’s other wrist, then raised his fist and struck the Egyptian in the face with his left hand, once, twice, a third time.
The third blow slowed his opponent and gave Eskkar the chance he needed. He heaved his other leg up and used it to pin Korthac’s free arm.
The smaller man now had Eskkar’s full weight upon his body and Eskkar took only a moment to draw back his fist and strike Korthac with his right fi st.
This blow, driven with all Eskkar’s pent-up rage, stunned his opponent.
Before the man could recover, Eskkar seized Korthac by the hair, pinning Korthac’s head to the floor, while with his other hand Eskkar smashed him again and again, aiming each blow at Korthac’s left eye, putting all his force and hatred into the attack. At the fifth blow the man went limp. Taking no chances that his opponent feigned unconsciousness, Eskkar raised his fist like a hammer and pounded the heel of his hand against Korthac’s forehead.
A burst of blood splattered up, but the man lay still. Eskkar gasped for breath, the blood pounding in his head, every muscle trembling with exhaustion. Never had he fought such an enemy before. He searched for Korthac’s knife, groping along the floor with clumsy fingers until he found it, then grabbed it by the bloody blade. The weapon shook in his hand. Eskkar reversed it and put the tip against Korthac’s throat. Only then did he lean back and gulp air into his lungs. Still astride Korthac’s chest, he took a quick look over his shoulder.
Their bedroom, still lit by the oil lamp that somehow remained upright during the struggle, showed Trella on the floor a few feet away, her body shuddering. She pulled herself toward Eskkar, a tiny, bloody dagger still in her hand, but she could scarcely move, and her sobs had joined with the sounds of the baby crying.
The sight of her made Eskkar want to plunge the blade into Korthac’s throat, but the thought that he might need the Egyptian alive stayed his hand. Korthac appeared unconscious, but Eskkar wanted to make certain; he jabbed the tip of the knife into Korthac’s throat, just enough to draw blood. The man didn’t react, so Eskkar raised the weapon and struck down on the man’s forehead with the hilt. The Egyptian’s body stayed limp.
Satisfied that his enemy wouldn’t be moving for at least a few moments, Eskkar pushed himself to his feet. His legs trembled and blood from the side of his head still dripped on his chest, joining with the blood that fl owed from the cut on his arm and all the scratches on his face from Korthac’s efforts to gouge out his eyes.
Eskkar lifted his shoulder to wipe the blood from his face on his tunic, and felt the muscles in his arms twitch from the strain of the fight. It took a moment before he could see clearly. Taking a deep breath he reached down and gathered Trella with one arm and lifted her from the floor.
Keeping his eyes on Korthac, he guided Trella back onto the bed, easing her down. She struggled to speak, but her body shook as much from the tears as from her wound. Blood flowed from an ugly cut above her hip, and he took her hand and pressed it against the wound.
“Keep your hand steady, Trella,” he said. “I’ll get help.”
Looking around the room, he saw the stool that normally sat before Trella’s dressing table. Knocked on its side, it lay against the wall.
He scooped it up, and keeping it on its side, lifted Korthac’s left foot and slid the stool underneath it. Then Eskkar raised his sandal and smashed it down on the man’s shin.
Eskkar grunted with satisfaction as he heard the bones break. “That’s for Trella and my child, Egyptian,” he said. For the first time, Eskkar felt certain Korthac wouldn’t be doing any more fighting tonight, even if he regained consciousness any time soon.
“Eskkar… Eskkar… is the child all right?”
He had to strain to make out the words, but he understood her up-lifted arm that pointed toward the still- wailing child. He realized she still held the small knife, covered with Korthac’s blood, in her hand. Taking it from her fingers, Eskkar dropped it next to her on the bed. His breathing slowed, and he started moving with more confidence. Eskkar stepped over to the cradle. He picked up his crying child, hands still clumsy with fatigue. Keeping Korthac’s knife in his hand, Eskkar carried the infant carefully to Trella.
“Stay here. Don’t try to move.” Looking down at her stomach and legs, he saw more blood, and fear went through him. “Are you wounded? Where else…”
“No, not wounded… the baby… your son… he came only a few hours ago… I was…”
She hadn’t realized that she had taken a cut across her hip from Korthac’s blade. Blood oozed from the cut, seeping between her fingers; but she kept her hand pressed tight against her side where he’d placed it.
She sounded weak, and the wound needed bandaging.
“Don’t get up,” he repeated. “I’ll be back.”
Korthac’s knife still clutched in his hand, he stepped into the workroom. The fl ame from the lamp in the outer room burned low and didn’t provide much light, but Eskkar picked it up and held it aloft. Only two bodies greeted his eyes. The dead Egyptian bodyguard lay where he’d fallen, but Annok-sur’s body had moved. She lay motionless, directly in front of the outer door, now shut and bolted. Ariamus had vanished.
Annok-sur must have closed and barred the door with the last of her strength before she passed out. Eskkar set the lamp down, retrieved his sword from the floor, and put it on the table.
Sounds of fighting came from beyond the door, and reminded him that he had left Grond and the others behind, and that he might not have much time. He lifted Annok-sur from the floor, and she groaned at his touch. As he carried her back to the bedroom, she started to struggle in his arms.
“Rest easy, Annok-sur. It’s Eskkar. Can you stand?”
“Yes, I think… yes.”
He felt her relax, saw her head start to sag. “Don’t faint yet,” he ordered, practically shouting the words into her face as he lowered her feet to the floor; he needed her conscious. Annok-sur nodded, and Eskkar set her down inside the bedroom and let her lean against the wall. “Bar the door and don’t open it. Bandage Trella’s wound, before she bleeds to death.”
Eskkar put Korthac’s knife in her hand, and watched her eyes narrow at the sight of the prone Egyptian. “No. Not until we’ve finished killing these vermin. Can you do that? Just watch Korthac. After you’ve tended to Trella, keep the knife at his throat. If he moves, or anyone tries to force the door, then kill him.”
He pulled the door shut behind him and scooped up his sword before crossing the outer room. Behind him, he heard Annok-sur drop the wooden bar into place. The women would be safe in there for now. Ariamus’s sword lay near the entrance. Annok-sur’s body had hidden it. He picked it up with his left hand and went to the door. Taking a deep breath, he lifted up the thick bar and yanked the door open.
Shouts and the twang of a bowstring sounded through the doorway, and the backs of Mitrac and another archer filled the opening. Both heads swiveled just long enough to see who stood behind them. He had to squeeze behind Mitrac to get out onto the landing. Dawn had arrived and light filtered through the open doorway and windows to illuminate the scene below.
The landing had barely enough space to hold the three of them. Mitrac stood beside Eskkar, bow drawn, blood pouring down his left arm.
Eskkar saw that only two arrows remained in his quiver. On the top steps two more archers crouched, extending swords that passed on either side of Grond’s body for protection; empty quivers on their belts explained the swords. His bodyguard wielded a sword and a spear, and kept at bay three or four rogues on the lower steps. Five or six more foes waited below, just inside the door to the courtyard, preparing for another rush. Bodies lay strewn about on the floor and steps, arrows protruding from most of them.
Eskkar took another quick look down as the others below looked up.
One of them called out something in Egyptian, but all Eskkar understood was Korthac’s name.
“Korthac is dead,” Eskkar snarled, putting all his rage into the words.
Everyone froze at the news. Eskkar raised his voice even louder and bellowed out his words, so that even those outside the house would hear them. “Korthac is dead!” Eskkar extended the long sword in his right hand, pointing at those beneath him, the blade stained with blood as if in proof.
Fury possessed him, the same emotion that had filled him as he fought against the Egyptian. “Korthac is dead, and now you will all die as well.”
Without any hesitation, he ducked underneath Mitrac’s arm and jumped off the landing, his feet aiming for a
