"I would have, if it had ever become a serious issue. As it is, it's simply a . . . curiosity." He looked dismissively at the two corpses, then raised his voice to a shout. It echoed off the distant walls. "Very generous! I thank you."

Marcus opened his mouth to speak, but Ja.n.u.s held up one finger for silence. A moment later, another voice filled the cavern, a distant hissing sound that seemed to come from every direction at once.

"You have what you came for, raschem. Consider this our surrender."

"Steady," Marcus said, as the rankers looked in all directions. The last thing they needed was a careless shot causing a panic. "Corporal, get the men to close up."

"I am Count Colonel Ja.n.u.s bet Vhalnich Mieran," Ja.n.u.s said in Khandarai. "May I have the honor of knowing to whom I speak?"

"You may call me . . . Mother." The word echoed oddly, repeating over and over through the vaulting hall for longer than it had any right to. "And I know well who you are."

"Then you know that this is not what I came for."

"No?" Mother's voice was a hiss, like windblown sand sliding across stone. The fire lighting the two corpses started to flicker and die. "You have the leaders of the Redemption. Bear them back in triumph to your pet prince. The Desoltai will raise no more rebellions, and the Steel Ghost will vanish into the myths of the Great Desol. What more do you require?"

"I will have the treasure of the Demon King," Ja.n.u.s said. "Give me the Thousand Names."

"Then it is as I feared. You are the minions of Orlanko and the Black Priests."

Marcus glanced at Ja.n.u.s, but the colonel's face was blank. None of the rankers would understand the Khandarai conversation, and Marcus was starting to doubt his own comprehension. Black Priests? If she means our Priests of the Black, she's about a hundred years too late . . .

"No," Ja.n.u.s said. "They are my enemies as well."

"You lie," Mother snapped. "Or else you are deceived. It matters not. I offer you this final chance, raschem. Take your prizes and go."

"I will have the Names."

The ancient voice trailed off into a fading whisper.

"As you wish . . ."

A new sound filled the cavern. A hiss, rising from the shadows in every direction at once, like the sound of a kettle just before it becomes a shriek. There were a hundred kettles, a thousand, echoing and re-echoing until the whole vast temple seemed to be alive.

Around the edges of the room, where the glare of the bonfires didn't reach, green lights flickered to life. They were eyes, Marcus realized, a swarm of eyes, all glowing a pale, eerie green that put him in mind of lightning bugs. By their faint light he could see ranks of swaying bodies and rows of faces with slack, distant expressions, all framed by wisps of rising white vapor. More white smoke trickled up through the air just in front of him, mixing with the dark woodsmoke of the extinguished fire. Marcus looked down.

General Khtoba had only one eye left, but that was open, filled with green light from edge to edge. His mouth worked, letting out a stream of liquid smoke whenever his fat lips parted. With an arthritic jerk, his corpse rolled on its side and started to fumble its way to its feet. Beside him, the Divine Hand sat up, his burning green gaze fixed on Marcus, and crawled forward on hands and knees.

"Kill them," Mother's voice said, echoing louder and louder until it thundered through the hiss of the smoke. "Kill them all!"

"Saints and f.u.c.king martyrs," Marcus said. At least he thought he was the one who said it, but the oath had escaped from several mouths simultaneously, along with an a.s.sortment of choicer obscenities. At least one of the rankers had a more emphatic response, and the bang of his musket going off was loud enough in the echoing cavern to make Marcus duck. It was followed by another, and another, then the whole company, not a single volley but a staccato chorus of shots ripping the air and merging with their own echoes like a never-ending bolt of lightning. The flashes drowned out the bonfires and turned the scene into a flickering montage of light and darkness, men waving and running in jerky stop-motion.

He saw Khtoba rear up, finally managing to lift his fat bulk to his knees. One of the rankers shot him from only a few feet away. In the next flash, Marcus saw the big general jerk, strings of gristle and gore hanging down the back of his uniform where the ball had punched clean through him. No blood ran from the wound, though, only a trickle of white smoke like the trail from a snuffed candle. And Khtoba himself gave no indication of being aware that he'd been hit. He sprinted at the ranker, no more bothered by the hole in his chest than the dagger in his eye. The Colonial screamed, raising his musket in desperate self-defense, but the Khtoba-thing grabbed it with both hands, jerked it out of the way, and bore the man to the ground.

Screams were erupting throughout the cavern. Marcus' night vision had been ruined by the muzzle flashes. All he could see was the distant glow of the fires and the swarms of green eyes closing in. The wave of panicked shouts washed over him.

"Out! f.u.c.king get out of here!"

"Bra.s.s b.a.l.l.s of the f.u.c.king Beast-"

"Get it off me!"

"Die, you son of a f.u.c.king-"

"They're in the door-"

"Form on me!" That was the big corporal, he thought. "Seventh Company, form square on me!"

A good idea, Marcus thought half hysterically, but it wouldn't work. Forming emergency square was hard enough in the open, let alone with demons bearing down on you.

Demons . . .

"Captain!"

The colonel's voice snapped Marcus out of his stunned reverie. He looked up to find the Divine Hand nearly on top of him, one arm thrown wide to draw him into a vicious embrace. Marcus jammed his hand into the thing's face and gasped when it bit down hard on the heel of his palm.

The blast of a pistol going off at close range m.u.f.fled Marcus' scream. The creature's head came apart as the expertly placed ball caught it just above one ear, scattering bits of skull and brain. A torrent of the strange white smoke issued forth, mixing with the pink-gray of powder smoke. It staggered, which was enough for Marcus to yank his hand out of its unhinged jaw and pull himself away. A moment later, the colonel stepped in front of him, his drawn sword a shining line of steel between himself and the still-standing monster.

"Are you all right, Captain?"

"Sir-I think so, sir." He lifted his left hand and winced at the neat half circle of teeth marks. His other hand dropped to the hilt of his own sword.

Before he could draw it, the thing lurched forward again, apparently unimpaired by the lack of the top half of its head. It was clumsy, though, and Ja.n.u.s sidestepped as it came at him. His cut sliced neatly through the back of its leg, which abruptly failed to support the thing's weight, sending it crashing down in a heap. Even so, it scrabbled forward, forcing the colonel to back away.

Marcus had finally gotten his sword free, and he fell in beside Ja.n.u.s. Something brushed his shoulder, and he looked around in panic, but it was only the outstretched hand of one of the ancient statues. Most of the demons had followed the fleeing rankers toward the exit, but there were still two dozen immediately in front of them, closing in a rough semicircle. More cl.u.s.tered around the soldiers wherever they had fallen, tearing at them with fingers and teeth until the screaming finally stopped.

All the creatures Marcus could see were dressed in the brown-and-tan uniforms of the Auxiliaries. Many of them were officers, their uniforms heavy with gold braid and colorful patches, though they'd apparently forgotten the use of their swords. They retained enough sentience to know a touch of caution, however, and even a hint of tactics. Facing a pair of drawn weapons, they halted just out of reach and started to spread to encircle the two officers.

"Sir?" Marcus said, putting his back to the statue and trying to look in all directions at once. "Any ideas?"

"Run," Ja.n.u.s said.

"Run?"

"On count of three." Ja.n.u.s nodded to indicate a direction. "They don't seem so thick that way."

"That's away from the exit," Marcus said.

"One thing at a time," Ja.n.u.s said calmly. "One. Two. Three!"

They spun away from the statue. One of the demons blocked Marcus' path, and he hacked at its outstretched arms, sending one hand spinning off. His second cut went low, cracking its knee out from under it, and the thing toppled. Another came at him from behind, and Marcus whirled around with a desperate swing that caught it in the ribs and slammed it against the statue. He sent up a brief prayer of thanks that he'd retained his heavy cavalry saber in place of a slim officer's blade, and a further offering when the weapon came free without sticking in the bone. Then he was backing away from a pack of green lights, and Ja.n.u.s fell in beside him. Marcus caught the colonel's eye, and they turned their backs on the pack of demons and fled through the maze of statues.

WINTER.

"Sir," Bobby said, almost jogging to keep up with Winter's rapid stride, "I really don't think this is a good idea."

"I'm fine, Bobby," Winter lied. She felt better than she'd expected, actually, once she got up and moving. Her nose was still tender, though, and every too-swift movement brought stabs of pain from her side.

"Even if you are," Bobby said, "the colonel gave strict instructions that no one was to go after him."

"That obviously doesn't apply to you and me," Winter said. "He took the Seventh Company with him, and we're part of the Seventh Company. We've got to be allowed."

"What about her?" Bobby said, indicating Feor. The Khandarai girl wore a hooded brown robe, but she was still attracting odd looks from the soldiers they pa.s.sed.

"She's-got information we might need," Winter said. "I'll explain things to the colonel."

"But-"

"No more objections, Corporal."

"Sir, yes, sir!"

The little town was much as Bobby had described it. The colonel had ordered it searched, but there wasn't really much to search. She saw a few men examining the household items and furnishings that had been left behind, following the time-honored soldiers' tradition that anything you could carry off from an enemy camp was fair game, but there wasn't much to loot, either. At least there was water. They pa.s.sed the cistern, which was at one end of a never-ending bucket chain of sweating men struggling to refill the casks of the regiment and water its thirsty animals.

Bobby had reluctantly pointed out where they were headed, a section of the cliff face at the back of the village that boasted a stretch of ancient carvings. A doorway gaped in the sand-colored wall like a missing tooth, flanked by small mounds of broken stone and smashed wood. A faint smell of gunsmoke hung in the still desert air.

Winter paused just outside, uncertain. The sun was well up by now, and the shadow of the cliff was starting to creep away from the face and down toward the town. After a dozen feet, the tunnel was completely black. Winter glanced at Feor, who had pushed back the hood on her robe and was looking at the carvings with interest.

"Do you know this place?" Winter said.

Feor shook her head. "It is a temple, a very old one. But Mother and the Desoltai have never been on good terms, and they did not share their secrets easily. It took the arrival of you Vordanai and the beginning of the Redemption to bring them together."

"Do you think they're inside?"

"Yes," Feor said. "I can feel them." Her expression turned uncertain. "Something else as well."

"Sir," Bobby said, "something's wrong here."

"How so?"

"The colonel warned everyone off from this place."

"So you said."

Bobby frowned. "Don't you think he would have left a couple of guards outside?"

That made Winter pause. She chewed her lip thoughtfully. "Maybe they're farther in?"

"Could be," Bobby said.

"Come on," Winter said. "Let's find the others."

a a a Winter edged forward, one hand feeling ahead along the dry stone wall. The entrance was a square of brilliant daylight behind them, slipping slowly out of view as the tunnel curved into the cliff face. There was some kind of light ahead, something that flickered like an open flame. Just as they'd entered there had been a resounding crack, and a rumble like faraway thunder.

"Was that a shot?" Bobby said.

Winter pursed her lips. It was hard to say-the stone made everything echo oddly and changed the timbre of familiar sounds. She kept edging forward, step by careful step. Another crack, accompanied by a distant flash, brought her up short.

"That was definitely a shot," Bobby said. "Who the h.e.l.l are they shooting at?"

They started moving faster. Light gradually started to filter in, a weird, flickering brilliance. It was the red glow of a fire, Winter was sure, shot through now and again by the brighter yellow-white of a muzzle flash. It was enough to make out the bare outline of things, which narrowly prevented Winter from tripping over the first dead man.

She threw out an arm to bring Bobby to a halt. The tunnel ahead of them was strewn with corpses, a dozen or more, all lying flat or sitting against the walls in att.i.tudes that suggested they'd been propped there like puppets. It was impossible to make out any detail in the firelight, and Winter dug hastily in her pocket for a box of matches.

"Are those-," Bobby said.

Winter struck the match on the tunnel wall. The flickering firelight from up ahead made colors difficult to distinguish, but in the steadier light of the match she recognized the brown-and-tan uniform of the Khandarai Auxiliaries. Bobby let out a long breath of relief.

"What are they doing here?" Winter muttered, half to herself.

"Could Khtoba have followed us across the desert?" Bobby said.

"Or we followed him." Winter looked back at Feor, who was looking down at the bodies with a puzzled expression. "Are you all right?"

"There's no blood," Feor said.

None of the corpses were visibly marked. Winter frowned.

Bobby was already pressing ahead. Feor threaded her way past the Auxiliaries to join her, and Winter followed slowly. Beside the last of the corpses, she paused.

"If they're fighting . . . ," Bobby said in low tones.

"Just a moment."

Winter prodded the facedown man with her boot. He was an officer, judging by the braid on his shoulders and the scabbard at his belt. The corpse rocked slightly when she touched it, and after a moment of hesitation she got down, grabbed his shoulder, and rolled him onto his back. There was no wound on his front, either. The elaborately decorated Auxiliary uniform was unmarred.

Something hissed. She watched, fascinated, as a thin wisp of white smoke trickled from the body's slightly parted lips and wafted toward the ceiling.

"Sifatz," Feor said, then repeated it in her half-learned Vordanai. "Run!"

"Wh-"

The corpse's eyes snapped open. They were green from edge to edge and glowed with an inner light that threw Winter's shadow wide across the tunnel ceiling. Its hands came up and locked around her wrist, dragging her off balance. She gave an undignified squeal as she fell across the corpse, her left side lighting up with pain. As she fell, the thing shifted its grip, wrapping its arms around her waist in a horrid parody of an embrace. Its mouth opened wide, releasing a gush of white smoke that played across her face and filled her nostrils with a scent like burning sugar.

With sudden horror she realized it was going to bite her, rip her throat out like some kind of beast. One of her arms was stuck by her side, but she just barely managed to bring the other up in time, slamming her forearm under its chin and forcing its jaw closed with a clack of teeth. She brought her knee up as hard as she could, almost automatically, but it didn't even flinch at the blow to its groin. Its arms merely tightened their grip, holding her as close as a lover. Their faces were inches apart. Winter could see the faint stubble where the man hadn't shaved properly, and the green of his eyes bored into her.

Her left hand groped for purchase and found the handle of the corpse's sword. She didn't have the leverage to draw it, though, and the strength of the creature's arms seemed endless. Her breath came in tiny gasps, and her lungs were starting to burn. She arched her back desperately, trying to break free, but only managed to loosen her grip on the corpse's throat. It bared its teeth again, bathed in white smoke, and tried to force them closer to her face.

Winter gaped, desperate to draw a breath, but the grip around her shoulders pressed her chest too tight. It felt as though her spine was about to snap. Her lungs were on fire. She felt her legs kicking it, distantly, but for all the good it did she might have been pounding on a wall.

Then, all at once, something gave way. One of the creature's arms pulled free, giving Winter a moment to hurl herself away from it with all the strength she could muster. She felt its nails leave long scratches down her back, even through the fabric of her uniform, but it didn't manage to get a grip before she was clear and rolling sideways. She cannoned almost immediately into Feor, who was holding on to one of the monster's wrists with both hands. Winter and the Khandarai girl went down in a heap, accompanied by a metallic clatter.

Breath flooded back into Winter's body, and sight and sound came with it. She heard Bobby's frantic shouts, and saw the corporal struggling with another monster in a brown-and-tan uniform. Behind it, the other corpses were rising, herky-jerky, like puppets on invisible strings. A dozen pairs of eyes bathed the tunnel in their unearthly green glow.

The one that had grabbed her rolled onto its hands and knees and reached for her again. Winter scrambled backward, and felt Feor do likewise. One of her hands brushed something solid-the hilt of the Auxiliary officer's sword, which she'd been holding on to when she'd pulled herself away. Her fingers curled around it, and the next time the corpse reached for her she brought it around in a wild sweep. It was a light, whippy little thing, a dress sword for showing off at parties rather than actual combat, but at least it was sharp. It caught the creature as it went for a grip on her ankle and sheared its hand in half. No blood issued from the wound, only a gout of white smoke. The remaining digits brushed uselessly at Winter's boot as she pushed herself out of range.

Bobby had achieved a sort of stalemate, she saw, by s.n.a.t.c.hing up a musket from beside one of the dead men and using it as a wedge to keep the thing away. More of the creatures were approaching, though. Winter finally managed to get her feet under her and shifted the sword to her good hand. When the thing on the ground reached for her ankle, she stomped down hard on its forearm and heard the bones snap.

"Bobby!" she shouted. "Back here!"