Byzantium's Crown Read Online Free PDF

of his blade to beat his horse to greater speed.
    "Look behind you!" cried the man who had joined him.
    Several of Alexa s men ranged themselves behind Marric, preparing to secure his escape with their lives. That was only good service, Marric thought. Still, he hesitated, unwilling to let them throw their lives away. Just as he opened his mouth to shout at them to flee, Alexa dropped back. Her hood had fallen from her hair, which streamed behind her like night clouds in a high wind. She drew her knife and rode toward the pack horse.
    "Get away!" Marric screamed at her.
    "We need time, brother," she gasped, and sawed fiercely at the ropes binding the rug and Ctesiphon to the horse. "We'll buy it this way."
    Irene's men rode toward her. She waited, clearly calculating her moment. When her enemies could no longer rein their horses aside, she pushed the rug off the pack saddle into their path. Even through the uproar Ctesiphon's death agony reached their ears.
    "Now we ride!" Alexa screamed and kicked her flagging mount.
    Marric spurred even with her. Bile suddenly flooded his mouth; he spat it to one side. Another damned senseless killing: Alexa was too naive in her death dealing for his liking.
    "Why?" They careened into a narrow side street. It would still take them to the waterfront, but make pursuit more difficult. "I thought we had agreed—"
    "Let Irene hurt!" Alexa cried. She glared at Marric. Her face was very white in the moonlight; her teeth, biting her lip as she concentrated on keeping her seat, were even whiter and very vicious. "You hate her, too. And he was her blood, not ours, never ours," she growled.
    When they reached the harbor, Alexa half-tumbled, half-swung down. Marric dismounted only a second later and caught her against him, holding her as he might a lover. "Never, never go against my orders again, my sister."
    "Your orders? Am I not Isis-on-Earth?"
    "My Isis, not a vicious little cutthroat!"
    "I'm glad he's dead. I wish I could slay Irene, watch horses stamp on her, blot her out—"
    Marric shook her hard, then slapped her. Cold, unforgiving rage flared in her eyes. With a hawklike scream Alexa drew her dagger and went for Marric. Her other hand moved in a strange, deft pass. It was unlike any knife fight countermove he had ever seen. He had been wrong. Alexa was no naive killer. And she hadn't been content merely to dabble in half-forgotten rituals. Like Irene, she had sought more, and been corrupted by it. If only he'd known that earlier!
    Not wishing to hurt her or be stabbed, Marric had all he could do to hold her off. And the soldiers were gaining on them.
    More shouts, and on all sides, hoof beats. Over all of them bommed a great, furry, accented voice. "Lady, lady! To her, my brothers!"
    Then there were guards, there were more and more soldiers, a whole troop attacking at once. Alexa turned, abandoning her rage at her brother in the face of this greater danger. They fought back to back until the swirl of battle separated them. Then she dropped her dagger and raised both hands. Light rose from them. She chanted, and Marric shuddered at her words. So magic did remain in their line, but weakened so that it turned from blessing into taint. Marric would have traded all he had to be spared that knowledge, or knowing that Alexa had succumbed—or sensing the attraction that her magic held for him.
    But too many men assailed them. Too many. One by one, Alexa's servants fell even as the voice from the dock boomed orders over and over. More feet pounded in from a different direction. Marric saw Varangians and started to give up hope. Irene would have had their formal oaths by now. He swirled his cloak at one man's eyes to blind him, dodged his ax, and cut him down.
    His arm was tiring; the next engagement would most likely be his last. Blood flowed down his arm, side, and legs from tiny wounds. They were not serious in themselves, but they drained his strength even as their pain sharpened his senses. The