The Last Odyssey (Sigma Force #15) - James Rollins Page 0,133

each snake-bit wound flames danced, darkening the flesh as the fiery poison spread.

Then the Son’s face exploded, ripping flesh from skull.

Ahmad grabbed Nehir’s shoulder and pulled her into the shadows. She hurried away. Behind her she heard the heavy thud of a body striking the stones as the bronze Medusa tossed aside its prey.

Nehir gratefully vanished into the deeper shadows, silently thanking Allah for sparing her. As she and the two men traced the darkest path across this level, they left the bloodshed and horrors behind them. Nehir stared upward, occasionally catching glimpses of the shining palace and its golden doors.

She now understood the enemy’s determined assault on those gates.

They’re searching for another way out.

That goal alone spurred her forward. She intended to live. Still, what sustained her the most, what held back the raving terror inside her, was a far stronger goal. She remembered the tripwire and knew who had set up that trap. More than surviving, she had another mission now.

Revenge.

7:24 P.M.

Hiding behind one of the gold thrones, Seichan tried her best to keep Aggie hushed. She let the macaque’s arms strangle her throat. Aggie chittered into her neck, while she kept her lips at his ears, shushing softly, soothing him with the warmth of her breath.

Kowalski was less cooperative than the monkey. “That’s so fucking wrong,” he whispered next to her, his gaze on the main hall.

Maria elbowed him quiet. Gray, along with Mac and Bailey, crouched a few yards away behind the second throne.

A few minutes ago, the group had split up and quickly examined the two stone passageways flanking the tall rock fireplace behind her. Seichan’s team had shone their flashlights into the tunnel to the left, discovering only a small shadowy private room off the throne hall. It had not looked promising.

Gray had better luck, waving them toward the other side to join him. But as Seichan’s group headed over, the throne hall received a new inflow of guests, forcing them all into hiding.

Out in the grand hall, a motley line of bronze figures continued to parade into the space from the surrounding hallways and galleries. She counted several dozen by now. Earlier their group had heard the figures milling and clanking about in the depths of the palace, slowly working their way to the throne room.

Unlike the bronze horrors outside, the gathering here was human-sized, men and women, the details of their faces long tarnished away. Still, they had been sculpted and plated with long tunics, belted at the waists. The women had braids and flowers entwined in their hair. Several of the men wore tall, crested helmets and carried shields strapped to their arms. This smaller-framed assembly had probably once served as personal staff to the royal family.

Seichan imagined she was seeing the truest representation of the Phaeacians. Sadly, the mechanisms driving these finer constructs must have been more delicate than the larger forms outside. They had not survived the ravages of time as well. Several walked with stilted steps, with limps, or with broken arms swinging uselessly at their sides.

But these men and women weren’t the saddest of the lot.

Scattered among them were bronze children, some equally broken, hobbling about like toys long forgotten and rusted. In fact, she imagined these constructions might have once been the royal offspring’s playmates. Including blackly tarnished babies—little bronze cherubs, with ruddy hot cheeks and fat limbs—that toddled or crawled across the stone floor of the hall.

Still, despite the assembly’s innocuous appearance, the danger was clear. Many remained intact, moving with a determined sharpness. Fires burned brightly throughout the group, heating their bronze surfaces to a smoldering threat. And like all the city’s guardians, the assembly here was drawn to the noisy clatter at the palace door. They headed obdurately in that direction, ready to defend the kingdom, likely activated when Kowalski first breached the palace gates.

Gray waited until there were only a handful, mostly broken, left in the hall. Then he waved everyone to follow him. He ran low toward the far stone passageway, ducked into the shadows, and windmilled an arm to urge them to rush over and into the tunnel.

They all followed, moving as quietly as possible.

Once gathered, Gray led them along an arched passageway excavated through the limestone. The tunnel, dotted by a long line of torches, seemed to go on forever. No one spoke until the only sounds were their own footfalls.

“This definitely seems to be leading somewhere,” Mac finally whispered.

Father Bailey agreed. “I’d call this heading beyond the palace,