The Shadow of Ararat (92 page)

Lightning leapt from his hands, curling and snapping through the air. Alais and Gaius Julius, who had run forward to stand beside him, screamed in pain as the chain of lightning rushed over their bodies. The Walach boys screamed in panic and fear and bolted for the door. Ultraviolet fire crawled over the Prince, sparking from his eyes and open mouth. Behind him, at the doorway, the little figure of Abdmachus, forgotten since the kitchens, cried out in fear. The ring of lightning had leapt to him too, including him in the whirling arc of power.

The floor fell away as a series of great pits opened under the Prince and his two servants. Fire raged below, leaping high and sending streamers of flame high into the air. A molten pit seethed and bubbled below them. But the Prince did not fall. Blue lightning trembled in the air around him, raising the three of them up. The tiles had rotated away, leaving narrow walkways honeycombing the floor. The three old men cursed violently as the Prince and his servants alighted on the nearest one.

Maxian laughed and drew the seething power in the dead man, the animal woman, and the Persian into his heart. A wind howled into being around him, lashing his hair, and a sphere of pale-violet light sprang up. The old men raged, their ancient fingers stabbing toward him, but the torrent of flame they called forth was swallowed by the sphere or splashed away from it to fill the air with a hideous burning fog.

Krista fled up the stairs as the air behind her incandesced and was consumed. Wind blew past her in a rising shriek as the atmosphere in the great chamber was exhausted by the conflagration. At the top of the stairs there was a flimsy door of cottonwood panels that flew apart in the rising wind. She shoved the broken door aside with her shoulder and darted ahead. The room at the top of the great stairs was the temple itself, a great hexagon around a single pillar of fire that twisted and burned. Altars ringed the tracery of pure white flame. Six pillars circumscribed the room, and rich silk tapestries hung from floor to ceiling between them. The floor was slippery and she skidded to one side, fetching up against one of the altars. It was very smooth, almost slick to the touch under her hand. She stared around in amazement.

The floor was glass, a surface as still and smooth as a forest pool. The altars were polished Minoan marble, so well cut that it seemed to be translucent. The tapestries were woven with gold and silver wire, each one depicting a shining being with golden wings. Krista ignored all of that, though later she could remember the room as she had first seen it with complete clarity.

The floor jumped and there was a vast
boom
. Krista rolled across the floor into the shelter of one of the altars. One of the old men flew past from the entrance to the greater room and struck a pillar with a bone-snapping crunch. The body slid to the floor, leaving a glistening track of dark red on the marble fluting. Another of the priests staggered back, his face bleeding from tiny cuts, the air around him flaring with shock after shock against the half-seen geometries that protected him. As Krista watched, holding her hands over her ears to try to shut out the thunder and lightning crack, the air sparkled, and a fluid twelve-sided lattice crystallized out of the air. Then the lattice broke apart, raining pale-green fragments to the floor. The priest shuddered, clutching his chest. There was a liquid popping sound and he fell bonelessly to the tiled floor.

The air around her trembled and Krista risked peeking over the top of the altar. At the top of the steps to the great room, a wall of darkness shot with flickering blue lights had sprung into being. The oldest priest skipped back from it and then turned to run. Krista rose up off the floor, her left arm arrowing out. As the priest ran past the altar, her forearm caught him across the chest with a jarring shock. His eyes widened in complete surprise as his feet flew out from under him and he slammed onto the floor. In one movement Krista was down, her knee at his throat and her right hand reversing the knife. The old priest was gobbling with fear when she rapped him hard on the side of the head with the pommel. His eyes rolled up and he went limp.

Silence suddenly filled the temple room and Krista's ears were ringing. She dragged the old man's body aside and tied him securely with cord from a pouch on her belt. Her fingers tore a strip of his robe off, and she wadded it up to gag him.

The wall of darkness cracked open soundlessly, but as it faded away, the roar of flames from the fire pits inundated the room. Maxian staggered through, his face haggard. Gaius Julius held him up, his wiry arm around the Prince. Alais stalked ahead of them, her face lit with an inner fire. Her cloak was gone, torn away in the violence of the struggle against the priests. The red-orange light of the great room outlined her, raising highlights on her legs and arms.

She danced forward, her spear whirling around her.

Krista brushed her hands off and stood up.

"It's over," she shouted, over the hiss of flames. "The last priest is here."

Maxian grinned out of a soot-stained face, then his eyes rolled up and he fell heavily against Gaius Julius' side. The old Roman eased him to the floor, the glare of flames casting his lined face in deep relief. Alais swung the spear to a stop, pointed at the floor. She slid sideways up to Krista, who met her feral gaze with a slight smile.

"Oh, my dear," the blond woman purred, "I thought that you had fallen to your death. It's so good to see you alive." Krista smiled back, baring her teeth, white and sharp, though not so long as Alais'. "It's good to see you too, have you fed well today? Not so feeling so... ancient?"

Alais snarled at the snap in Krista's voice. The spear swung up off of the floor, but Krista stepped forward, inside the weapon's reach. The knife had reappeared in her hand. "You know what the Prince wants. He won't be pleased when he finds that you've slaughtered most of the inhabitants of this place..."

"I know what the Prince desires," Alais shot back, her voice low and filled with a palpable chill, "and unlike you, I give it to him."

"I've no time to discuss your fantasy life," Krista said, her eyes glinting. "We have work to do." She pushed past the blond woman, suppressing her surprise at the corded muscle she felt under the lush flesh. The prince was on his back and Gaius Julius was chafing his wrists.

Krista squatted beside the old Roman. "What is it?" Her voice was even, but concern leaked through.

The dead man looked up, his eyes filled with fear. "Breaking the last barrier was too much for him," Gaius Julius whispered. "He is cold, too cold..."

Krista frowned and took the Prince's head in her hands. He was cold, like ice. She cursed and felt for his pulse with her fingertips. "It's like the time before, when he carried too much of the power through his body. We've got to get something hot into him, some broth or soup." Krista stood, staring around in dismay. The great room was a sea of fire, cut only by the narrow honeycombs. Carrying the Prince out that way would be very dangerous. The temple room offered nothing. Her forehead creased in concentration.
The priest was running away,
she thought,
heading for something...
She spun around.

Alais was rising from the body of the old priest, her face flushed, her eyes glittering. There was a streak of blood on her cheek, dark and smoky against the pale cream of her flesh. Krista snarled, feeling a hot rush of rage suffuse her. She took two swift steps and her hand, stiff, lashed out, clipping the Walach woman on the ear. Alais' head snapped sideways and she skidded into the nearest altar.

"Fool!" Krista snarled. "He was the only one who knew the secrets of this place!"

Alais sprang back up, her face contorted in anger. Her long white teeth gleamed in the firelight. Krista dropped into guard, her knife dancing in the air in front of her. Alais blurred forward, quicker than any cat, curved claws snapping out from her fingers. Krista blocked right, chopping down with her hand, and stepped into the charge, her left elbow smashing into the Walach woman's face. Alais howled in agony and rolled away with the strike.

Behind them, as they circled, Gaius Julius strained to drag the Prince away into the shadows.

Alais lunged, her claws gleaming ivory in the ruddy wine-colored light. Krista skipped back, her knife still waving in the air. She felt a pillar behind her and leapt into the air, her left leg snapping out at Alais' head. The Walach woman ducked and her claws slashed at the inside of the Roman's thigh. Krista came down out of the kick and her right hand, the knife pointed downward, caught the blow. Alais howled in pain as the steel bit at the webbing between her fingers.

Krista sprang away from the pillar at her back, hitting the ground and rolling up, facing the way she had come. Alais sidled to her left, crouching low, firelight gleaming off her sweat-slick breasts. Krista lunged in, feinting with her knife. The Walach woman danced aside and uncoiled a kick of her own. A steel-tipped heel grazed Krista's head as she whipped away. The edge of the sharp metal tangled in her hair for a moment, cutting the leather fillet that held it back.

Krista danced aside from another lunge, her hair spilling out behind her in a dark waterfall. Her foot found the top of the steps. Alais suddenly fell back and Krista advanced a step, away from the steep slope of the stairs. The Walach woman snatched up her spear from the floor. Krista felt a wash of chill fear, but she had time to snake a curved iron hook from her belt. It was attached to a length of twisted, wire-cored rope wound around her waist. Alais advanced, the spear whirling in her hand, whistling through the air.

Krista skipped back, furiously unwinding the rope from her waist. The Walach woman shrieked a hair-raising yowl and leapt ahead, the spear blurring in the gloom. Krista swayed sideways, the leaf blade cutting the air where she was. She jumped forward, whipping the iron hook out and snapping it back. Alais ducked the flying hook but screamed in pain when it buried its head in her shoulder as Krista dragged it back to her in one motion. Blood fountained and Alais roared in rage. The Walach woman snapped the spear sideways and caught Krista in the chest.

Breath exploded out of her as the ironwood shaft cracked two ribs and flung her sideways into the pillar framing the steps. Krista's head rang like a gong and her nerveless fingers dropped the knife. The wire rope was still curled around her right arm, and it tangled the Walach woman. Alais, weeping with pain, dug the hook out of the flesh under her shoulder blade. Her hand gripped the rope like iron. Krista struggled to rise, but her vision was blurred. Two, then three, blond women with bare skin slick with blood wavered before her.

Alais yanked on the rope and Krista flew toward her. The Walach woman's right hand caught the Roman girl out of the air, her talons digging into Krista's throat. The Roman gagged, feeling cartilage crunch under the incredibly strong fingers of the barbarian woman. She clawed at Alais' eyes, but the Walach held her at arm's length, feet kicking fruitlessly at the air.

Alais laughed, her voice thick with rage, watching the Roman struggle in her grasp.

Krista's fingers dug into the Walach woman's shoulder, trying to pinch a nerve, but the corded muscle was like granite under her nails, shrugging aside her pitiful efforts. There was a roaring sound in Krista's ears and darkness seeped into her vision. The barbarian woman, her pale face split with a terrible grin, receded into a tunnel of swirling gray. Krista flexed her left arm and the spring-gun was in her palm. She thumbed the catch.

A six-inch iron dart suddenly sprouted from Alais' left eye in a fountain of blood. The burnished metal crackled with green fire as the spell that Maxian had placed on it so many weeks before discharged. Green light flooded out of the Walach woman, blazing in her eyes and mouth. Alais seemed to be screaming, but Krista couldn't hear her. She felt herself falling and then the marble floor embraced her with a sharp
crack
.

Gaius Julius approached the two bodies tentatively. He had dragged the Prince out of the way and had watched the remainder of the fight with a calculating eye. Krista lay sprawled on the steps, halfway down. Alais, curled into a tight ball, was at the edge of the platform. The green fire had faded, leaving her eyes hollow. The dead man knelt at her side and brushed the shriveled hair away from her face.

"Too greedy, little cat," he whispered. "Too much cream..."

He walked down the steps and knelt by the Roman girl. She still had a pulse, though swelling purple bruises marred the smoothness of her neck. Gaius Julius shook his head, wondering what to do. He thought of the Prince and his own fragile mortality and then stood up.

Alais was light, her body boneless and limp, as he carried her down the steps to the edge of the pit of fire. The roaring flames had been dying down since the walnut-hued man had perished. Still, the nearest pit was filled with sullen coals and a fierce heat. He raised the body over his head and then threw her forward. The blond woman plummeted down and was enveloped by the fire. Smoke billowed up in a dark cloud. Gaius Julius watched the smoke rise to the ceiling and then turned back to the living.

Behind him the fires guttered down, casting long shadows over the shattered statues. Heads peered out of the darkness, lying sideways amid a rubble of arms and stones. At the far end of the chamber, beyond the honeycombed pits, Khiron stood silently, waiting for the command of his master, holding Abdmachus by his neck. The Walach boys, cowed and whimpering, crouched behind him. The eyes of the homunculus were dark pits filled with guttering flame.

The cohort was sitting at the side of the road, their wagons pulled over onto a verge of stubbly brown grass. Most of the veterans slept. Zoë, Odenathus, and Dwyrin were perched on a wall made of fieldstone, their backs to the yew trees that had grown up behind the wall. Behind them a fallow field stretched off to another line of trees. Behind that the valley rose into low rounded hills capped with terraces and green bands of trees. The air was heavy with dust and it was hot in the bare shade of the yew trees. In the mountains behind them, to the north, snow was falling and the air bit like ice. Here, in the sheltered valleys of what the locals called Azerbaijan—the land of fire—it was still a warm autumn.